Never Leave a Buddy Behind
by FraidyCat
Summary: Returning to my first love: Hurting Charlie — so don't give me any grief. Maybe your 'buddies' aren't who you think they are
1. Chapter 1

**Title: Never Leave a Buddy Behind**

**Author: FraidyCat**

**Genre: Drama, Angst; Returning to my First Love: Hurting Charlie**

**Time line: Any Time is Good For Me**

**Summary: Perhaps your 'buddies' aren't who you think they are…**

**Disclaimer: Don't own 'em – but wanna cuddle 'em.**

**Chapter 1**

Don carried the box of pizza into the living room of his brother's house. Charlie was sitting straight up in the recliner, head back, eyes closed. He waved the box under Charlie's nose. "Dude," he said. "Pepperoni."

Getting no response, Don walked a little further and plopped down on the couch facing the chair, placing the box on the coffee table between them. "Charlie." This time he spoke a little louder. "Wake up."

Still no response. Don stretched his leg out and lightly kicked the bottom of the chair.

Charlie started in the chair, immediately groaned. One hand clutched at the arm of the recliner as he slowly opened his eyes. He blinked at Don, but didn't say anything. His head began to tilt to one side, as if he wasn't quite sure what he was looking at.

Don smiled. "So. Dad told me what happened."

Charlie blinked again, then giggled. He waved a casted arm in the air. "Donnie." He giggled a little more. "Donnie, Donnie, Bo-Bonnie…"

Don felt himself smiling wider. Charlie was still stoned, on whatever they'd given him at the hospital.

"Hey … _Chuck_ … last time we played the 'Name Game', Mom sent us both to bed without dinner."

Charlie yawned, looked at him. "It was seven years before I figured out which word upset her so much." His mood suddenly changed, and Don actually saw him tear up. Better nip this in the bud. He tried to redirect the conversation.

"Hey. I said, Dad told me what happened. Want some pizza?"

Charlie started to shift in the chair, thought better of it. He looked at his own arm, still hovering in the air, and seemed bewildered. "Did I do this?"

Don was wearing an all-out grin now. "Yeah, Buddy. You don't remember?"

Charlie shook his head. " 'Member being late to class."

"That's right. You got busy in your office, took off in a dead run at the last minute still using your lap top, and tripped down the stairs. Scared the life out of Larry, who was coming up at the same time you were going down."

Charlie frowned. "But I did that last year."

Don laughed out loud. "I know. We all know." He saw a wince cross Charlie's face. "I'm not laughing at your pain, bro. This time you really did it. Broke a wrist, wrenched your back pretty good. You do realize you've been sleeping sitting up in a chair?"

Charlie looked around. "That explains why we're backwards."

Don reached for the pizza box, shaking his head. "Seriously, Charlie … want some pizza? Dad said he barely got you in the house by himself and dropped you in this chair a couple of hours ago."

Charlie's head was seeming to clear, but the sensations that replaced the fog were worse. "Dad." He tried to shift again.

Don half stood. "Need something?"

Charlie shook his head, and Don sat again. "Dad's at the grocery. And the pharmacy. He'll be right back." He chewed thoughtfully for a while, looking at his brother. "Hurrmmuhh?"

Charlie frowned again. "Was that clear? Did I do something to my ears?"

Don swallowed. "Sorry. Eating. I asked if it hurt much."

Charlie's eyes narrowed, and he focused on some file folders lying on the other end of the coffee table. "Why? Did you bring me some work?" Then his eyes suddenly widened again with realization, and his voice dropped to a whisper. "Did you say I was carrying my lap top when I fell down the stairs?"

Don finished a slice, drew on the beer he had brought from the kitchen. He regarded Charlie seriously. "Yep."

Eyes closed, jaw tensed in pain, Charlie finally pushed himself up in the chair a little. "G-d," he finally spat out. "Let me see it."

"Which half?"

Charlie groaned.

Don reached for more pizza. "Relax. Larry's got some geeks in the computer department at school working on it. They're gonna try to put Humpty Dumpty together again at least long enough to pull all your data." He chewed and watched his brother pale. "But you've got back-ups of everything, right?"

Charlie raised his good hand to rub his temple. "Of course. But my lap top is configured just the way I need it. It took months. It's faster than the desktop, it has superior video capabilities…" His voice was fading with each word, and his eyes had slipped closed again.

"You're going back to sleep," Don observed. "Sure you don't want something first?"

Charlie's eyes popped back open and looked at the files again. "What is it?"

Don shrugged. "Don't worry about that now. I brought it with me because I didn't know you'd hurt yourself — and killed your computer."

"But you brought pizza. A bribe. Arrived unannounced. It must be important."

Don sighed. "We've got several vics, all murdered. The only connection we can find is that they have all served in the Army. But not all in the same unit, or at the same time. A couple are career officers, the others are short-timers …"

"The data?"

"Found it at the last vic's house. We don't know what it is, just X's and O's to us. I was hoping you could de-code it … but Charlie, you really should get some more rest, before whatever they gave you wears off."

Charlie sighed. "May be too late for that. Help me out of this chair… I gotta move … "

Don quickly stood and crossed to the chair. He grabbed his brother's good arm under the elbow and lifted. He had to put his weight into it, since Charlie wasn't helping much, and he winced in sympathy at Charlie's quick intake of breath. His hand hovered over his brother's back, afraid to touch it, as Charlie swayed and trembled a little. "Dad's filling the prescriptions while he's out. Muscle relaxant, pain killer … you gonna be okay until he gets back?"

Charlie took a step, grabbed at Don's arm. "Like I have a choice," he muttered. He decided to stand still. He looked at the files again. "Why don't you let me see those? Maybe it will distract me."

"You just going to stand there for awhile?"

Charlie looked at the doorway to the kitchen. It was so far away. "Maybe a hard-backed chair?"

Don followed his gaze. "Right. I'll get it."

Charlie grabbed at his arm again. "No. Take me to it."

"Charlie …"

"They said I should move."

Don considered. "Compromise. Dining room. I'll bring the files, and the … Wait!" Charlie had started forward again, death grip on Don's arm. He stumbled to catch up. "Guess I'll go back for the files."

Exactly 12 steps later Charlie gripped the back of a dining room chair. Don pulled out the one next to it and helped Charlie lower into it. Glancing at his brother's face, he quickly stepped into the kitchen, retrieved a bottle of water out of the refrigerator. He placed it in front of Charlie. "I'm getting the rest of the pizza. You'd better have something in your stomach when Dad gets back with those meds."

Charlie gratefully accepted the water, and lifted the bottle to his head. Don soon returned, dropping pizza and files on the table. He sat opposite Charlie and took another swig from his beer. "Headache, too? Dad didn't mention anything about your head."

Charlie lowered the bottle, and contemplated the lid. "Demerol haze. I think." He held the bottle out to Don. "Little help here?"

"Oops. Sorry. Forgot about your wrist."

Charlie negotiated a slice of pizza while Don opened his water. "Wish I could."

Don placed the opened bottle on the table in front of Charlie. "Not having a good day, are you?"

Charlie just blinked at him, mouth full of pepperoni. While Charlie ate, Don stood again and went into the kitchen. He returned with a fresh beer, wandered to the couch and brought one of the pillows back. He gently picked up Charlie's casted arm and propped it on the pillow, happy to see him tackling a second slice of pizza. Don sat back down to have another himself. When Charlie placed the half-eaten slice down and used his good hand to open the first file folder, he started to explain.

"Like I said, we're not sure …" Charlie lifted his casted arm for silence, and drew the folder closer to him. His already pale face lost another shade or two, and he looked up at Don.

"What?"

Charlie looked back down, then raised his head again.

"I know this," he finally said, a mixture of confusion and fear in his eyes. "I helped write this."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Don looked at Charlie in stunned silence for a moment. "No way," he finally said. Charlie was looking at the print-out again and didn't answer. "What is it?"

Charlie carefully closed the folder, took another drink of water and avoided Don's eyes. "I … can't really tell you."

Don leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. "What do you mean, you 'can't tell me'? You're not sure what it says?"

Charlie finally looked at him. "Not entirely. It's been five years since I was part of the team that designed this algorithm. I recognize it; I could probably de-code the encryption…"

"Five years?"

Charlie nodded. "Before you came back. I spent a semester in Washington. Mom and Dad thought I was just serving as a visiting professor at Georgetown … and I was, I did that also. The … they set it up, as a cover."

"Cover? They? Who did this team of yours work for, Charlie? What exactly did you design?"

Charlie looked away again. "The thing is, Don … you don't really have clearance."

Don raised his eyebrows. "This is over my clearance?" Charlie nodded again. "Who at my office _has_ the clearance for this information?"

Charlie started fiddling with the closed pizza box, pushing it toward Don and then pulling it back. "Um … uh … "

"Vocabulary, Charlie. I need actual words, here."

Charlie looked at him, held his eyes. "Director Merrick. Maybe. I'd have to check."

Don emitted a low whistle and thought for a moment. "Can you at least tell me if this is an agency that I know you've worked with? NSA? NASA? Customs?" He shook his head. "Geez, Charlie … I keep thinking you teach math."

Charlie smiled a little. "I was almost out of my element on this one, Don. The other people on the team … it was a frightening thought, the IQ points in that room. And no, I don't think you've heard about this connection. It was a one-time thing, I've never worked for the … for that agency again."

"You're not going to convince me you couldn't keep up."

Charlie sighed. "It was a challenge, but it's not that. When I discovered what the application was being used for, I regretted my involvement. I refused to work with this agency again, and eventually, they stopped asking." He looked a little nervous. "Or at least they haven't asked in a while." He looked at the folder again. "I don't get this. I didn't even know this was still in use. I understood it was for an operation with a definite time consideration."

Don leaned forward and propped his elbows on the table, subconsciously adopting the "good cop" posture he often used in interrogation when it was his turn to play the nice guy. "So this agency must have lied to you."

Charlie ran his good hand through his hair. "I don't know why that would surprise me. They were never completely truthful."

"So why honor the clearance code?" Charlie looked at him. "You can call whoever you have to call, Charlie, but something tells me they're going to be a lot more concerned with a possible leak in their boat than they are about a few murders in L.A. You call, and my case is gone. These men will never be vindicated."

Charlie considered Don's words. "A 'leak in their boat'," he finally said, "could be as important as they think."

Don wished Colby or David was here to play "bad cop".

"At least read it yourself. Do you have what you need here to do that? Maybe knowing what it says will make a difference."

"It's here. But it has to be retrieved, and loaded onto the desktop in the solarium. I don't think I can physically do that, right now."

"I can help. I've already seen the print-out, seeing something else that looks like it isn't going to mean anything more to me. You can tell me what to put where, and then you can read it, alone."

Charlie drummed his fingers on the table.

Don pushed. "Or, I can get you your cell. You're going to have to do something, we can't pretend you never saw this. Call someone you don't trust; or read it first, Charlie, and then talk to someone you _do_ trust." An unwelcome thought crossed his mind and Don leaned back in the chair again. He waited for Charlie to look directly at him again. "Assuming that you trust me."

Color rushed to Charlie's face as he stammered to respond to his brother. "Don! Of course I trust you. I don't decide who's got national security clearance, or at what level … I'm not insinuating that I don't trust you! I'm just having some moral issues, here."

"You said they lied to you about the project's purpose. About its usage time frame. What do you owe them?"

"Maybe nothing. But I owe _myself_. I can't reduce myself to being just as honest as the next guy. I can't judge my behavior by standards I don't even respect."

Don tried a new tack. "What about self-preservation? Is it okay to protect yourself, Charlie? Because I don't know if I mentioned it, but we found this in a dead guy's computer."

The finger-drumming started again, and Charlie didn't answer. Don sighed. "Either you're tougher than I'm used to, or I really need another agent to play off." Charlie smiled again, but still didn't answer. Don held up his hands in defeat. "Okay. Did you ever tell these guys you wouldn't decipher your own encryption if a copy of it fell into your lap?"

Charlie thought. "Can't say I ever specifically said that, no."

"Then read it, Buddy. You don't have to say anything to me, but at least you'll have a better idea of who you do need to talk with. And maybe I only said it to try and talk you into something, but now that it's out there, I really am kind-of freaked out by the tie you suddenly have to a dead man."

"Can you not see things? Because this project isn't the only one I'll be jeopardizing, but I need your help, physically. Can you turn off the FBI agent?"

Don was quiet a long time before he answered. "I can't promise that. I don't know if I even know how to do that. But I was your brother for a long time before I was an agent, and that's still my priority."

Charlie couldn't help a sad smile. "Still? When was it ever your priority?"

Don winced. "Cheap shot, Chuck. I'm sorry for the years it wasn't, okay? I've been trying. I thought we were doing okay, finally."

Charlie looked at him, and for once Don couldn't read the look in his eyes. There was apology on the surface, but something deeper, as well. "I'm sorry. Don't know where that came from. It's not like I wasn't part of the equation myself."

What was that in his eyes, and when had Charlie learned how to keep things hidden? How had Don not noticed, before? "We are okay, right?"

Charlie's smile seemed genuine, and even pushed away some of the clouds in his eyes. "Yes. I'm sorry, really. I'm never at my best when I fall down the stairs."

Don relaxed a little. Maybe it _was_ just the pain. He smiled back, and waited.

Charlie carefully lifted his casted arm and moved the pillow out of the way. He sighed again, looked at Don. "I'm going to need you to help me up. We have to go to the garage."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3 

The two brothers stood side-by-side at the kitchen door, contemplating the three steps down to the driveway, and the free-standing garage forty feet away.

Don let Charlie enjoy a moment of silence. He cleared his throat. "You're sure I can't just go out and get whatever it is you need?"

Charlie's good hand was clutching the counter so hard that his knuckles were white, but he offered Don a small smile. "I'm afraid not. But I'm going to have to ask you to check your FBI persona at the door."

Don grinned. "How do I do that? Do you have something in mind?"

Charlie glanced at the drawer beneath his hand. "Are you still wearing your badge? Gun? Cuffs? Put them all in the drawer."

"Charlie, this is stupid. I'd feel naked without all that stuff."

Charlie insisted. "It's symbolic. A gesture. And if you feel naked, your concentration will be off."

Don looked at Charlie. He wanted to argue more about this. They were both too old for symbolic gestures … it was silly. He wasn't at all sure how much longer Charlie would be standing, however. In the interest of time, he quickly opened the drawer and placed it all on top of the rolls of tape, scissors, pencils, owner's manuals. "You would have to pick this drawer," he grumbled. "I'll probably never see it again." He reached in his pocket and fingered the handcuff key. He drew it out and held it up. "Do I have to put this in? It really will get lost in there."

Charlie let go of the counter long enough to hold out his hand. "Give it to me, then. I'll put it in my pocket. Don't let me forget about it. I wouldn't want some poor suspect trapped, tomorrow."

Don handed it over. "These keys are universal in the department. I could just use someone else's." He tilted his head at Charlie and smiled. "Unless I really didn't like the suspect."

The corners of Charlie's mouth lifted in a half-smile, and he dropped the key in the front pocket of his jeans. He looked back across the driveway, took a deep breath. "Okay," he said. "Okay. Let's do this."

Once, when Don had been playing minor league ball, scouts from the majors had attended a game. Everyone knew someone was getting kicked up that night, and Don had tried for the best game of his life. He knew the scouts would be looking at stats, and he tried to up all of his, in one game. Bases, RBIs — he'd even hit two triples and one home run. It was the longest night of his life. Until he walked across the driveway at Charlie's elbow, listened to the quiet hiss of pain when he finally got him to the desk and helped lower him to the chair, waited for his brother to start breathing normally again. If this experience didn't pay off better than that game, he was going to be really pissed.

Charlie finally sighed a little and looked up. "Hope Dad gets home soon."

"I'll bet. What should I do?"

Charlie glanced at the blackboards that surrounded the perimeter of the room. Some were on easels, one was hanging from a support beam in the corner, some were attached to the walls. He focused on one. "The board attached to the north wall. Take it down."

Don approached the blackboard. "I need to get a screwdriver."

"I do it all the time, so I leave the cordless in here. Probably plugged in the recharger over by the beam. There's an outlet there."

Don found the screwdriver and returned to the board. He made quick work of taking it down, leaned it against the wall at his feet. He turned to Charlie. "Now what?"

"Middle…shit. Sorry. Middle panel. It's a false wall. Hollow."

Don winced in sympathy while he rapped on the panel. It sure sounded hollow. "How do I open it?"

"Push in at the bottom, with your foot. Watch out, the entire panel will pop off."

The panel did just that, but Don was ready for it, and deftly caught it and lifted the panel to the side. What he wasn't quite as ready for were the stacks of plastic containers inside. They were clear, almost the exact width of the CDs and DVDs he could see inside.

"At least we're lucky in one regard," Charlie said. "I just went through all that a few months ago, took old ZIP disks and put everything on DVD. I was going to get rid of the ZIP drives, and that reminded me of some of the old data I had stored … anyway. 2001. It should be near the bottom. I only have this century in that panel."

Don squatted to squint at the labels on the containers. "In this panel? Are you saying there's more stuff out here?"

He grabbed "2001" and took it to Charlie.

"Absolutely not. I'm not saying that." He took the box from Don and placed it on the desk, popped the lid off with one hand. He began to sort through the disks inside, finally choosing one. He laid in on the desk. "Could you put the rest back, put the panel back on? I know you'll just have to take it off again later, but it would make me feel better."

"Sure." Don reached for the box and saw the label on the disk. "DOD091101". He stared at it for a moment, standing over Charlie at the desk. "Is that Department of Defense?"

Charlie didn't answer. "And a date? 9-11-01? Charlie, that was the date of the Al Quaeda attack on New York."

Charlie looked up at him and blinked. "I'm sure you must be mistaken."

"How did you … when did you …". Don moved back to the wall. "I guess you're right. I must be mistaken. Although I do remember calling Mom & Dad that night, to talk about it and ask about Uncle Morty. He was visiting New York then, remember? I didn't get to talk to you, because you had suddenly gotten a call to be at some university before the semester started the next week, and you were packing." He popped the panel back on and turned back around. "I don't remember anyone saying it was Georgetown. Maybe they did, and I wasn't listening."

"Right. It was just teaching. Why listen?"

Don stopped at the desk. "What's going on? That's the second cheap shot you've taken at me tonight."

Charlie rubbed his temple. "I'm just not in a good mood. Don't take it personally."

"They're pretty personal shots, Charlie. What's the problem?"

Charlie dropped his hand. "It's nothing. It's stupid. I'm being petty."

Don crossed him arms. "What?"

Charlie was silent.

Don asked him again, louder this time. "What? We're not going back in until you tell me."

"Fine. You were here last Saturday, when I got the telegram. You read it. 'Another math award,' you said, and went after a beer, and back to the game. You never even congratulated me."

"I didn't?"

"No. It's a National Medal of Science, Don, for research. It will be presented by the President of the United States. Two of my fellow 11 recipients are Nobel-prize winners." Charlie's voice was getting angry. "What do I have to do to impress you? Or even just qualify for a little polite interest?"

Don closed his eyes, opened them again and touched Charlie's shoulder. "Buddy, you've been impressing me for so long I may have gotten used to it. I may expect it. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make it sound like nothing. I didn't realize how much it was, I intended to look at the telegram again when Dad was done with it …" He swallowed. "I forgot. Damn, Charlie, I forgot. I am an ass. No wonder you're angry."

"It's not really the award, Don."

"Then what is it?"

Charlie was thoughtful. "I guess … I guess I've been hoping that we were 'okay', as you put it, myself. Closer. The whole thing just shows me that what I do, apart from helping on your cases, just isn't all that important to you. It makes me wonder how well you know me. How well you want to."

Don felt an uneasy heaviness in the vicinity of his chest. Charlie was really upset about this. He couldn't even remember now who had won the game he and Dad had watched, Saturday. How could it have been so important to him then? Had he managed to screw up everything they had accomplished in the last few years?

Charlie started talking again. "Let's not do this now. We've got to get to the house, the computer." He managed to stand by himself, although it took two tries. He gritted his teeth when he picked up the disk. "Come on." He started off without Don, who actually had to take a couple of large steps to catch up with him.

Don had a feeling he had to make up some serious ground all the way around.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Don parked Charlie behind the computer on the desk in the solarium, and made it a point to take a chair on the other side, where he couldn't see the screen. He watched Charlie awkwardly insert the DVD, then navigate the mouse.

"Are you sure you don't want me to do that?"

Charlie looked briefly over the monitor. "Not yet. It's just copying to the hard drive." He pulled the files over again and opened the top one. "If you had the clearance," he said, "I might tell you that this was one of the first official reactions to the 9-11 attacks. It was actually a joint effort with the military — Army special forces. A unit was created to enter both Irag and Afghanistan covertly. I'm not entirely sure what their missions entailed, but I can guess. This encryption was designed for their communications with each other. DOD jumped through all the hoops to ensure they could deny culpability if they ever needed to; I'm sure the unit had a field commander, but I think their authority ended in the field. They didn't answer to anybody." He glanced back at the screen. "65 percent. Anyway, they told us the unit was only commissioned for two years. We were assured that the encryption would be taken out of place then. One of the others on my team even put a bomb into the code."

"A what?"

"A bomb. Nuclear. It's a string of commands that causes the code to self-destruct, so that it can no longer be used. Every copy was supposed to have one."

"Then how was this guy still using his?"

"If you know it's there, and you can write or even edit code, it's not hard to take it out. I took it out of my copy. There are some very complex algorithims in this code. I thought I might need them later for some other project, I didn't want them to just disappear." He looked at the screen again. "80. It's a designer's thing, anyway, an ego thing, I guess. I have copies of things I did in third grade."

"Things you did in third grade are probably worth saving. But the DOD just let you guys each walk off with a copy?"

Charlie looked away. "Not exactly."

"You stole it? What, are you a pirate now?"

Charlie's voice took on a defensive edge. "You can't steal something that you created yourself, can you? They agreed to let us take the portion of the application we were responsible for. Stupid mistake. People assume a scientist doesn't have the same rationality as everyone else, they assumed that we weren't going to get together on the outside for a 'mix-and-match' party. We each ended up with a copy. We did that before we even left our hotels when it was over. To be fair, we probably wouldn't have done it, if they hadn't made us angry."

"Remind me to stop making you angry. What were you all angry about, anyway?"

Charlie looked at him incredulously. "Don. It was covert. That means the men — and possibly women — who were part of that unit would have no support or recognition from their country. It also means they didn't have to play by anybody's set of rules."

"And plowing two airliners into the Twin Towers deserves something better?"

"We had this discussion, already. If you only demand of yourself only the worst of what you've seen elsewhere, what's the point? And even if you believe that, what about the members of the unit? They were commissioned by the military and the DOD — didn't they deserve better than desertion two years into a three-year assignment? Their communication capabilities would self-destruct in two years, but we found out they were deployed for three. Not one of them was ever supposed to come back alive."

"They might as well not have. Someone here is trying to finish the job."

Charlie had the mouse again, clicked a few times. He stared, let go of the mouse and started grabbing the files again. "Where's that list of victims?" He found what he was looking for and looked back at the screen. "This guy. Reardon. He wasn't just in the Army, he was its contribution to the encryption team. It was because of him that we found out all we did. It was only due to his assurances to us that we didn't go to the press ourselves. He was supposed to serve on the unit, as well, and we made sure he knew how to edit the bomb out of the code once he got to the field. He said he could handle everything else. He was career military, he didn't even seem surprised. He was shipped out before we even got home from Washington." He looked at the file, again. "He was the first one killed. Seven months ago."

He put the list down and again lifted the computer print-out from the last victim's computer. His eyes flickered between in and the screen until he looked at Don. "I think you may need more names on your list."

"Vics? What do you mean?"

"This appears to be communication indicating that this guy noticed a pattern before you did. He'd done his research. He lists all the men on your list — by their code names, of course — and a few more. He's asking a superior officer in the unit for help, protection."

"Our computer experts said that was never e-mailed. He must have been interrupted while he was writing it."

Charlie looked at the bottom of the page. "Probably. It doesn't really end. I guess he had time to hit the 'save' button and close the program … must have gotten away from the computer or whoever killed him would have looked for something himself."

"We were kind-of surprised he didn't anyway. The computer was actually a desktop that was unplugged when we got there, all the peripherals — like the printer — were disconnected, and a new computer was still in the box on the floor. It looked like he was putting in a new system, and operating without one until he was finished."

Charlie nodded. "Must have looked that way to his attacker, too."

Don leaned forward in the chair. "Who are the other names? They're code-names as well? But not part of the unit?"

Charlie nodded again.

"How do you know?"

"I recognize some of them." He laid the print-out down and pointed. "This one, it's 'Bluebeard'; that was one of the guys on the encryption team. Same with 'Elephant Man'."

" 'Elephant Man'?"

"We picked our own names, the first day. We were still giddy with the intrigue of it all." Charlie lowered his finger on the page. "And this. It says, 'Big Brother' is still all right. Thinking of talking to him, warning.'" He looked back at Don. "This was definitely the darkest thing I had ever been involved in, I could tell that already. So that's the name I picked for myself, because you were an agent; I thought I could channel you, or something. I'm 'Big Brother'."

Don gaped at him. "Do … can you find out if Bluebeard and Elephant Man are still with us? Do you know their real names?"

Charlie shook his head sadly. "No. That was always part of the deal. I think they got us from as far apart from each other as they could — I've never run into any of them at any of the conferences I've attended."

He looked back at the print-out. "This is weird. It looks familiar, but not from our original encryption. I think I've used this, though. Just a couple of years ago." He used the mouse to close the open computer program. "I think we need to go back to the garage."


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Don refused to get out of his chair. "Wait a minute. I'm not through asking questions."

Charlie ejected the DVD from the computer and fumbled to return it to its case. "You said I didn't have to tell you anything."

"Did you hear me say you have to _answer_ my questions?"

"Semantics." Charlie tried to lean back in the chair, but couldn't, so he settled for cradling his broken wrist.

"Didn't you say that you never knew your team members by anything but their code names?"

"Yes."

"Then how did the last vic … Jamison … how did he know yours? He knew that Bluebeard and Elephant Man were dead, and he said he was thinking of talking to Big Brother, knew that you were still all right. How did he know that?"

Charlie frowned. "I … I don't know. There must have been something else subversive going on, a mole somewhere high up, maybe? _Someone_ knew our real names, and someone obviously created a master list…"

Don sighed. "Which is out there now. Look, just tell me what you need from the garage. I know all about your magic wall now. If it's from a couple of years ago, it should be in the same place, right?"

"No. I mean, it would be, but I used this disk just two weeks ago, and I haven't put it back yet."

"Used it for what?"

"Something else. The DVD has both the projects I did that year for the NSA, and they contacted me about refining one of them. The code section I recognize is from the other one — I think. The project was never completed, the NSA closed it down, so I could be wrong. " He raised his hand and rubbed his temple again. "It's not like I spent a lot of time at it, I'm not even sure why I'm thinking that's where it is…"

"So is the disk in the garage desk or something? And if the project was never completed, what is your algo-whatever doing floating around out there?"

Charlie sighed again. "I don't know either of those things, either. I'm having some trouble pulling things together. I'm going to need to sit in the chair, close my eyes, make myself remember. Much as I wish you could do that for me, I just don't see how you can."

So the trek began again.

At the bottom of the three steps from the kitchen, Charlie stopped. "If Dad ever gets home," he said tightly, "I promise, no one will have to talk me into taking my medication."

Don waited for him. "Must have been a line at the pharmacy. Back or wrist?"

Charlie took a tentative step. "Can't differentiate anymore."

They walked in silence half the distance to the garage before Charlie stopped again, breathing hard. "Definitely back."

While Don waited again, he shifted uncomfortably. He took a deep breath and started speaking quietly. "Charlie, I am proud of you. I always have been, even when we were younger and I was jealous at the same time. The last few years, seeing first-hand how you conduct your life as a man, I'm not just proud of your genius, your awards, your science. It's what you've been saying all night. You conduct yourself on a higher moral plane than a lot of people. You're also incredibly generous, not just helping me whenever I ask…I've seen you with students, with Dad, with your friends."

He waited for Charlie to say something, but got nothing. He went on, nervously. "The thing is, this is the way I am. Have you witnessed me saying stuff like this to a lot of people? Maybe it's wrong — it's probably wrong … but I just don't give a lot of stroking. I work hard, I work smart, and I expect the same thing out of everyone else. I haven't targeted my little brother in some way. I'm pretty much an equal opportunity jerk."

"Why is that?", Charlie asked softly. "What is it you're afraid will happen if we know?"

Don sighed. "I don't know. I guess I don't think it should matter all that much."

Charlie started walking again. "Maybe it shouldn't …" He grunted under his breath when his foot rolled over a rock, grateful for Don's immediate steadying hand. "I don't claim to know much about human nature, but I don't think it's unusual to want to be … important, to the people we care about. Seen … noticed. I'm not saying you should sit in on classes or watch me scribble on a blackboard for six hours straight. I know math is not a spectator sport. It would just be nice to be able to compete with whatever else it is you're thinking about, occasionally."

Don began to answer as they entered the garage and started for the desk, but Charlie interrupted him. "Never mind. I told you, I'm just sulking tonight, feeling sorry for myself. Let's not talk about this anymore." Charlie looked at him as Don helped lower him to the chair. "Didn't I already say that once?" He rubbed his head again. "I can't remember."

Don ran a hand through his hair in frustration and began to pace the room. "I'd say I was sorry for letting you do this, tonight, but now it looks like you could be a target, and that's new information." He was nearing the support beam, talking as much to himself as to Charlie. "We've got to keep going now. I just wish I had some idea of how your name got out there, who's got it…"

He froze when he heard the unmistakeable slide of a round being chambered into a semi-automatic.

"I could tell you that, but then I'd have to kill you."

He turned slowly toward the familiar voice. His father stood in the doorway, gagged, hands cuffed in front of him — and there was a Glock resting in his ear. Don saw the hand that held it, followed the arm to register the face and match it to the voice. His heart dropped to his shoes. _No!_

"Of course, I may do that anyway. Haven't decided, yet. Tell you what, I promise that before I do, I'll answer all your questions."

"Dad!" Don heard Charlie's strangled cry and saw him trying to stand up.

"Just stay there, Charlie. Everybody stay. Nobody moves. Nobody talks."

The gunman waited. Satisfied that Charlie wasn't going anywhere, he risked another look at Don. "You packing? Toss it over."

Don held his hands up. "I took off my gun, after I got here." He slowly lowered his hands and shrugged off his jacket, then turned completely around so that the man could see he was unarmed. "It's in the house," he finished when he was facing him again.

"Back-up piece."

"I never wear that in the house. It's in the glove compartment of my car. You know I have an ankle holster for it, you can see that I'm not wearing it." Don carefully lifted his pant legs to prove his words, then dropped them again, put his hands back in the air.

"Got your cuffs?"

Don shook his head. The gunman reached in his own jacket pocket, withdrew a pair and threw them at Don's feet. A handkerchief was knotted around them. "Luckily I thought to bring two sets. Sit on the floor, back against that beam. You're going to tie your own gag, Eppes, and then you put your hands behind you, around the beam. Cuff yourself."

Don bent to pick up the cuffs. "Colby," he started. "What are you doing?"

"SHUT UP! I didn't tell you to talk!"

Don did as he was told. He tried to catch Charlie's eye, but his brother was still staring at Colby and Alan, the fingers of his good hand convulsively curling and uncurling on the top of the desk. When Don was secured, Colby pushed Alan further into the room. "Now you, Charlie. Stand up and walk away from the desk, toward that blackboard on the floor."

Charlie opened his mouth, and no words came out. Don saw his hand flatten on the desk, saw him push, saw him raise a few inches off the chair and then fall back. He heard his father muttering through the gag, saw him struggle against Colby. Colby tightened his grip on Alan. "Try again, genius."

This time Charlie laid his casted arm flat on the desk, and pushed up with it as well. His face paled several shades, and Don could see what it cost him when he finally stood and started toward the wall. When he reached the blackboard, Colby pushed Alan again.

"Very nice. Cross to the desk, old man." Once there, Colby lowered him to the floor, squatted beside him. He looked at Charlie. "So much as breathe hard, and I'll blow his head off." He looked back at Alan, reached a hand into his pocket and withdrew a key. Never moving the Glock from Alan's ear, Colby unlocked the cuffs, dropped the key back in his pocket. "Hands behind you. Around the desk leg. Lock the cuffs again." He pushed at the solid desk with a shoulder while he waited. "What is this, anyway? Antique mahogany? Helped Don and Charlie move it last year, so I'm pretty sure you won't get very far with it." When he heard the click of the handcuffs, Colby looked down and checked, roughly pulling on Alan's arms to make sure he was hooked around the desk. Then he stood and trained the gun on Don, while he crossed to him to check that he was secured to the pole. Finally, walking back to Charlie, he holstered his weapon.

"Need something else in here?"

Charlie just looked at him, so Colby reached around to place a hand on his back and push him forward. "I need your help in the house, then."

Charlie stumbled as he tried to put on the brakes. "N … No, w…w…wait. I need to look."

Colby paused. "For what?"

Charlie's eyes darted frantically around the room, lighting on Don. "A … At the equation, on the board."

"Which board?"

Charlie tilted his head in Don's direction.

Colby's eyes narrowed. "Why?"

"It will help, I think. I can't decipher all of the print-out without it."

Colby took out his weapon again. "Stop at least five feet in front of the beam. I'm right behind you." He shoved the gun in Charlie's back, causing a wince. "Me and my friend, here."

Charlie walked unevenly across the floor, stopping when the pressure of the gun increased. He hoped he was far enough. He hoped this worked. He looked at Don, who was staring at him, and tried to smile a little. Then he raised his eyes to the board. Focusing there, he cradled his wrist. When he heard Colby sigh in impatience behind him, he tried to judge from the sound exactly where he was. Then he swung his casted arm wide and to the back, as hard as he could, connecting solidly with Colby's shoulder.

Colby grunted in surprise. "You little shit!" He pushed at Charlie with the gun. "You're lucky I need you alive." Angry, Colby shoved him again with the gun, harder, and Charlie stumbled forward a few steps. He tripped over his own feet, waved his hands in the air in front of him as if looking for something he could use for balance. There was nothing, however, and gravity pulled him down. At the last second he tried to cradle his broken wrist, and crashed heavily into the cement with his shoulder. His head snapped, and Don heard a sickening crack as it contacted the floor, then a moan of pain as Charlie rolled. He stopped moving, his head hidden from Don behind the support beam.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

Colby kicked viciously at Charlie's legs. "Dammit!" He was bending to look at Charlie's head when his cell phone sounded. He quickly removed it from his belt and checked the caller ID. He stood again and holstered his weapon, walked rapidly toward the door. He flipped open the phone. "Addison. I don't have it yet. There's been a complication."

Don tried to twist around the pole to see Charlie's face, but stopped when he felt something being pressed into his hand. It was solid, small, metal … Charlie was handing him the handcuff key he had placed in his pocket earlier. Don closed his eyes as he realized that Charlie had managed to get close to him, then orchestrate his own fall, hoping to be able to slip Don the key while he was on the floor. He heard another low moan. The fall may have been intentional, but the consequences were nonetheless real. He tried to squeeze Charlie's fingers, but they slipped from his hand as Colby's footsteps approached again. Don dropped the key to the hand most hidden at the side of the pole away from Colby, and made sure to keep both hands still.

"mmmmmmpppphhhhhffffff". He tried to speak against the gag, glared at Colby to hold his eyes up above his hands.

"I'll call you when I've got it." Colby snapped the phone shut and returned it to his belt. "Shut up, Eppes." He leaned back over Charlie. "Good. You're awake. What the hell was that?"

Charlie's voice was strained, and weaker than Don liked. "H … hurt my back, earlier … s…s…sorry…"

Colby yanked on Charlie's good arm. "Get up."

Charlie groaned as he let Colby drag him to his feet. Standing, they were in Don's line of vision, and he looked up and watched Charlie sway while Colby looked at his head. Don didn't see any blood, but Charlie winced when Colby pushed roughly at the hair falling in curls onto his forehead.

"Just a bump. Don't even try to tell me you've got a concussion, and can't read the print-out or do the work. I'll kill them both in front of you." He grabbed Charlie's cast, dragged him to the front. An involuntarily sound escaped Charlie's throat. When he was standing in front of Colby he looked down at Don.

"Get. Dad. Out." He mouthed the words, no sound, but Don understood him anyway. Charlie suddenly lurched forward, Colby pushing him again.

"Get going. House."

Having made the trip between house and garage with Charlie twice already, Don knew it was not going to be fast. He leaned his head back against the pole and forced himself to breathe slowly. He fingered the key.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Once again in the chair behind the desk in the solarium, Charlie waited for the application to boot up. Colby paced impatiently behind him. "I can't believe you picked today to lose your lap top. This thing's a dinosaur."

Charlie stalled for time. He had to give Don time. "I didn't realize you knew so much about computers."

Colby snorted. "I'll bet you didn't realize a lot of things, Whiz Kid." He dragged the chair Don had been sitting in earlier around the corner of the desk, so that he could watch Charlie and the monitor. He wouldn't put it past the little geek to do something stupid. Charlie passed the print-out over the keyboard so that it lay on the desk between them.

"You were in Afghainstan," he said.

"Right. That's in my record, and it's legit. Served there in '98 and '99."

"Were you recruited for the unit, and sent back? That would make sense. You were already familiar with the terrain, the structure and personnel … and you would do anything for your country."

Colby straightened a little. "Damn straight. I did what I was told. We all did. Most of us even managed to come back, even when they didn't expect us to — and somebody decided to fix that." Colby shook his head. He was talking too much. He waved his gun at the monitor. "Program's up. Tell me what this print-out says … here." He pointed to the section of code that Charlie had found unusual earlier. "Most of it I can figure out myself, now that I see the encryption again. I used it for almost two years. But this doesn't look like it belongs."

Charlie looked at it again. "Do you have a master list?"

"Of what?"

"Our names. Our real names, correlated with our code names. How …"

Colby interrupted him with a laugh. "Reardon. Ever get drunk with him Charlie, tell him who you really were?" He shook his head again. "Now that I think about it, he said you were the hardest, because you didn't drink. He finally lifted a bottle of water from you and ran your prints."

Charlie looked at him, confused. "But why?"

"He knew what was going down, eventually. He was 'gathering data', as you say. Collecting information he could use later. He made sure everyone on the unit shared that information."

"There were seven men on the encryption team. Two are already dead. Don just said that 'several' Army personnel were murdered. How many are left?"

Colby pointed the Glock at Charlie. "Need-to-know basis, Charlie. And the only reason you're here is to tell me what I need to know."

Charlie swallowed and looked down again. "Y … You're right," he said. "This section of code doesn't belong. It is similar to something I've seen before, but it's not exact. I think it's a location. The line before it says, 'I have the proof'; the line after, 'keep it safe'. Your last vic must have known it was you killing everybody … got some kind of proof and safeguarded it." He blinked at Colby.

"That's not good enough," the other man growled. "Where? Give me the location."

Charlie swallowed again. "I … I'm sorry, I don't …" he looked back at the print-out. "Wait a minute. Did this last guy — Jamison, I think Don said — did he ever work for the NSA?"

Colby narrowed his eyes. "A couple of years ago. That's were he went when the unit got back, but he didn't stay long."

Charlie was scribbling on the print-out. "Long enough. This is a string of code from a project I was working on with the NSA two years ago, but the middle isn't mine. It's …" he tapped a pencil on the paper. "I think it's simple Morse Code." He looked back at Colby. "Based on that assumption, it says …" He looked back at the print-out. "It says, 'rented locker, substation zero' — I don't know what that means."

Colby grabbed the print-out and shoved it in his jacket pocket. "I do." He pushed back in the chair, lifted his head in the air like a dog catching a scent. He stood quickly and grabbed Charlie's upper arm, pulling him up as well. "Come on," he whispered. "And shut up. Not another word." Charlie wasn't walking fast enough, so Colby reached an arm around his neck, effectively keeping him silent, and dragged him backwards across the room. They stood, Colby's back to the wall behind the door.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

He heard the kitchen door bang shut and gave them a few more minutes to get to the computer in the solarium. Then Don maneuvered the key into the locking mechanism. At the loud click, he felt Alan look at him. Don brought his hands around the pole and lifted a finger to his lips to indicate silence, quickly removed the cuffs entirely, then the gag. He stood and crossed in a low crouch to Alan, who was staring, eyes wide.

Don started working on Alan's cuffs. "Charlie," he whispered. "Long story, but he had my cuff key in his pocket. He slipped it to me, when he fell." He finally managed to release his father's hands. Alan grabbed the gag with one hand while Don removed the dangling cuffs from the other. Alan coughed quietly.

"He made Colby push him, so he could fall?"

"Think so."

Alan sighed. "Then he's not hurt."

Don shrugged. "I don't know. Didn't get a good look at him, but he hit the floor pretty hard, Dad." He stood, bringing Alan with him. "We've got to get you out of here."

Alan protested. "We have to get Charlie!"

Don's eyes searched the room for a weapon. He finally jogged over and took the cordless screwdriver off the floor. He came back to his father. "Charlie wants you safe. He told me. Besides, once you get somewhere safe, you can call help." The two cautiously approached the door. "I'll go after Charlie. My gun is in the kitchen." Don knew that the garage could be seen from the solarium, if Colby were to glance out the window. He just hoped Charlie could keep him from doing that, somehow. He whispered to Alan. "We're heading for the corner of the garage, to get behind it as soon as we can. Then we go through the hedge to the Sandeski house, their back door." He glanced at his father. "You ready?"

Alan nodded once, and they stole out the door. Don sent Alan first, so it would be his own body that Colby would hit first if he started firing from the window. Once at the back of the garage, covered by the building, Alan stopped and leaned into it for a moment. "We can't get through this thick hedge."

Don grabbed an arm again, this time leading. "This way," he said quietly. "Charlie and I cut a hole between the back yards, near the corner." The childhood path was overgrown, and stiff branches scratched at their faces and arms, and pulled at their clothes, but eventually they popped through the other side. They ran for the back door of the Sandeski house. Don grabbed his father's arm as he was raising it. "Don't knock," he whispered. "Too much noise." He scrambled around, looking under the doormat and flour pots on the porch, raising his hand to the lentil above the door. He came back with a key. "I'll have to talk to them about this," he muttered. He unlocked the door, and led his father inside. A television blared, and they followed the sound. Jean and Bill Sandeski sat side-by-side on a couch, watching a sit com. Alan stepped from the shadows, and Bill jumped.

"Alan!" Jean stifled a scream as Don stepped out from behind him and indicated with his finger to his lip again that they should be quiet.

"There's somebody in our house," he whispered. "He's got Charlie. Keep Dad here, and call 911. Lock all your doors and windows, turn off the lights …"

"We have a safe room," Bill interrupted. "We built one in the basement last year after all the home invasions."

Don nodded. "Good. Go there, until the police arrive. Make sure you have access to a phone." He looked at Alan. "I'm going back for Charlie," he said. "Call Megan, and David."

Alan grasped his arm. "Can we trust them?"

Don realized with a start that only an hour ago, he would have had his father call Colby for help. He hung his head, finally said, "I think so. Maybe just Megan. David is Colby's partner, so for now … just call Megan."

Alan nodded, still clutching Don's arm. "Be careful, Donnie."

Don gripped his father behind the neck and leaned into his head for a moment. "I will," he promised, and then he was out the back door again, making sure it was locked behind him.

He ran back across the lawn, fought through the hedge again, and silently approached the kitchen door of Charlie's house. He tried to remember if it squeaked. He didn't think so. Better do it fast, like ripping off a band-aid. He stood to one side and swung the door wide, holding his breath, waiting for a squeak, a gunshot, something. When he didn't hear either, he stepped through the door in a crouch, directly to the drawer where he had put his gun. He opened it slowly, just far enough. His hand hit the cool metal, and he drew the service weapon out, almost weeping in relief. Then he headed for the solarium.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Don crept cautiously toward the back of the house. He couldn't hear anything. No talking, no typing. Had Colby left already? What had he done with Charlie?

He made a wide circle, so that he wouldn't come full front to the doorway. He leaned against the wall and raised his gun, two-handed grip. He began to inch, gun first, through the door.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Both Colby and Charlie could see the barrel of the gun as it inched into the room. Colby tightened his armlock around Charlie's neck, and the professor could barely breathe, let alone call out. He felt like he might pass out from lack of air.

Don peeked around the corner, saw that the desk was unoccupied. His gun lowered a bit, and he walked more fully into the room.

Colby knew that he could kill him at that point. He hoped that later, Don would realize it as well.

He waited for the perfect moment, then thrust Charlie toward Don, using a knee to Charlie's back to propel him into his brother.

Don saw something coming at him from the side and quickly pivoted, finger on the trigger. Before he could squeeze off a round, Charlie was on top of him, his weight throwing Don off balance until they both hit the floor and rolled. The impact convulsed Don's finger, and the gun discharged, deafening in the small room. He froze. Dear God. He had just killed his brother.

"Charlie! Charlie!" He was pushing at the limp body on top of him, nearly fainted in relief when he saw the brown eyes open.

"Go," Charlie breathed out, "Go after him."

Don pulled himself out from under Charlie. "No, No, he doesn't matter. Are you hit? Did I hit you?"

Charlie rolled over onto his back, shaking his head. Don didn't see any obvious blood, but how could he not have hit him? He began to claw at Charlie. "You're sure? My gun … God, Charlie, are you sure you're not hit?"

"Not hit," Charlie answered. His eyes were closed again. "I think I felt it go through my shirt. Hurry. Colby's getting away." His eyes popped open, scared. "Dad?"

Don was looking at the hole in Charlie's shirt, lifting the t-shirt to see a burn. A burn, not even a graze. Holy shit. "D … Dad's fine. He's next door." He looked toward the door.

"Go," Charlie said, "I'm fine. I'll just wait here, if that's okay."

Don looked back at Charlie and smiled. "Don't try to get up." He gripped his brother's good arm, then left the room in a crouch, gun in the lead.

He was pretty sure Colby was gone. It had been a few seconds, and Granger was good. He didn't need long. Still, he cleared each room, ending back in the kitchen. The door was open, and he saw the blinking lights of squad cars in the driveway. They knew it was a hostage situation. Who knew how long they'd been here. He backed away from the door so that he wouldn't be a target.

"FBI!", he yelled. "FBI! Your perp is out of the house! Did you get him?"

He heard his father's voice. What was he doing out of the safe room? "That's my son! That's my son, don't shoot him, please!"

Don peeked around the corner of the door and saw a uniformed officer approach , riot shield held in front of him. "Show me your badge!"

Luckily he could reach the drawer from where he stood. He reached in and grabbed it, held it around the corner. He left his hand high for a moment, cautiously followed it with his body, both hands high. He saw his father break free and run for him at the same time that he saw Megan's car screech to a stop. He hurried off the porch to meet the officer. "He got out of the house, just a few minutes ago. Did you see anything?"

The officer shook his head. "We've been out here about two minutes," he said.

Don grabbed Alan, who had finally reached him. Megan was close behind. "Dad, you shouldn't be out of the safe room. The scene is not secure, officer, please take him back to the vehicles."

Alan protested. "Where's Charlie?"

"Dad, please. He's in the solarium. Let me go back and get him. I can't be worried about your safety too, please!"

Another officer had joined the party and reached for Alan's arm. "Please sir, the scene is not secured. I'm going to have to take you back to the vehicles."

"The sooner you're back, Mr. Eppes, the sooner we can go in and get Charlie." It was Megan's quiet voice that finally caused Alan to move, and allow himself to be guided. He looked back over his shoulder at Don. "Get Charlie," he said.

Don sighed, looked at Megan and the uniforms gathering. "I cleared the house, but if you didn't see him come out, you should clear it again. My brother's in the back room, the solarium. He's hurt, don't move him."

Several uniformed officers streamed past him into the kitchen. Megan looked at him. "Charlie's hurt? What happened?"

"He fell down some stairs at school today. Fractured his wrist, wrenched his back. And Colby pushed him around a lot, he fell and hit his head on the cement in the garage, so we'll have to check that out, too."

Her eyes widened. "Colby? What do you mean, Colby pushed him around? What's going on here?"

That's right. Megan didn't know. "He's part of it, Megan. Maybe all of it. He came to force Charlie to decode that encryption, he knew I'd have it over here tonight. He had Dad and I secured in the garage, and Charlie in the house."

"I don't understand." Megan's voice wavered, and she cleared her throat. "We're looking for Colby?"

A uniform appeared at his elbow. "House is clear, like you said. Sarge is having dispatch send an ambulance for your brother."

Don blinked at him. "An ambulance? Does he really need that? I was just going to take him to the ER myself."

The uniform began to stammer. "I'm … I'm sorry, sir, I thought you knew. You told us not to move him …"

Don felt a panic starting to well in his chest. Had Charlie been hit after all? Had Colby done something else to him? He grabbed at the officer's shirt. "Knew what?" he growled. "What's wrong with my brother?"

Megan pulled Don's hand off the uniform and the officer took a step back, watching him in fear. The next words froze Don's blood in his veins. "He … your brother … he says he can't feel his legs."


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

Don careened around the corner of the door. Charlie wasn't on the floor where he'd left him, he was leaning against the wall nearby, in a sitting position, legs straight in front of him. His head rested on the wall, and his eyes were closed. A uniformed officer stood over him.

"What are you doing? I told you not to move him!"

The officer flinched at his anger. "We didn't, this is where we found him."

Don fell to his knees next to Charlie, who was staring at him now. "Charlie, you shouldn't have moved …"

Charlie smiled a little. "Didn't, much. Probably won't, much."

Don didn't know what to say. "You'll be all right, the ambulance is coming." It sounded false, even to his own ears.

"Did you get Colby?"

Don shook his head.

Charlie closed his eyes again. "He took the print-out. Going to something called 'substation zero'; Jamison said he had proof in a locker there. I don't know what that means …"

"Don't worry about that now, Charlie."

Charlie opened his eyes and looked at him. "Don. Can't feel my legs, here. Don't want Colby coming back and taking care of the rest of me, too."

Don grimaced. "He won't. We'll have protection on you. We'll find Colby." He was interrupted by the EMTs, who asked him to move out of the way.

Charlie stopped him. "Don. Don't let them forget about my wrist, okay? I think maybe I hurt it again in the garage."

Don looked down at his brother's hand and gasped. He had been so concerned about his back, he hadn't noticed that the fingers looked like sausages. The flesh was obviously swelling, straining to get beyond the plaster cast. The EMTs noticed it, too.

"I'll go back to the bus for the saw," said one. "We've got to cut this off. You start an IV; we'll get him on the backboard as soon as I get back."

Don shifted to the side, reluctant to leave Charlie.

"How did this happen?" The EMT asked as much to distract Charlie from insertion of the IV into his good hand as for legitimate information.

"I think it was that last knee to the back," Charlie answered, then stopped. He rested his head against the wall again and closed his eyes. He was suddenly very tired.

Don took up the explanation. "He fell down some stairs earlier, he's already been to the ER once today. Then, he was … assaulted. The injury's been aggravated." He looked at Charlie's casted arm again. "Both of them."

The EMT nodded, and the other returned with a small power saw. "Let's get him on the board." Don watched his brother's face as the two men carefully lowered him onto the board, saw him wince. Maybe that was good. He could still feel pain. Then, one medic cut off the cast while the other hooked up EKG leads to Charlie's chest. Don heard an audible sigh of relief when the cast popped off, but when he saw the misshapen, discolored lump of flesh that was his brother's wrist and hand, he had to look away.

Another officer and Megan had entered the solarium. "Agent Eppes, we need to de-brief you. Your associate tells me time is of the essence if we're going to get this guy."

Don shook his head and watched as Charlie was lifted, on the backboard, onto a stretcher and the EMTs prepared to leave the room with him.

"Wait, wait … Don …" He heard Charlie's voice and rose from where he still kneeled on the floor. He leaned over the stretcher.

"Let these guys take care of you, Charlie."

Charlie blinked clear eyes at him. "Don, I'll be okay. I'm not dying here. You stay and do what you have to do."

Don shook his head again, but Charlie kept talking. He decided to play unfairly. "Do it for me, you know you've got to find Colby to keep me safe." He saw Don start to waver. "There will just be hours … probably days, of tests at the hospital, anyway, and Dad will be there." Charlie tried to smile at him. "Trust me, I'll be easy to find." His eyes flickered to Megan. "Tell him."

She touched Don's shoulder. "Your Dad will go to the hospital with him. He's already told them all he knows."

"We've got to get moving," an EMT interrupted.

Don sighed and nodded, then. He reached for Charlie's good hand and held it all the way out of the house, onto the driveway, to the ambulance, didn't let go until his father was there to take it from him.

"I'm okay," Charlie said again as they prepared to lift him into the back of the bus, still looking at Don. "We'll wait for you at the hospital."

Don tried to send him off with a smile of reassurance, but knew he was failing miserably. As the EMTs hit the emergency lights and drove the ambulance away, he brought a hand up to rub at his face.

When he lowered it, David was looking at him.

"What's going on? I heard the ambulance dispatched on my scanner. They said it was a possible home invasion?"

"Not exactly." Don sighed again and looked David in the eye. "It was Colby. He's involved in the military murders. He came here to make Charlie de-code the print-out."

David's mouth fell open and his eyes traveled to Megan, then back to Don. He began to shake his head. "No. Not Colby."

Don turned back toward the house and the uniformed officers who were waiting to de-brief him. "Come on," he said to his team members. "I only want to say this once."

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Colby entered the bowling alley cautiously, and looked around for a moment. He decided the odds were in his favor. It was a busy night, and the teenager at the counter looked like the type to be impressed with a badge. He strode purposefully over, practically shoved it in her face.

"FBI. I'm investigating a murder, and the victim rented a locker here." He made a show of placing his badge back in his pocket, so that she could catch a good look at the gun under his jacket. "I'm going to need everything's that's in it. Evidence." He took a notebook out and flipped it open, looked down. "Name's Jamison. Martin Jamison." He looked back at her, smiled engagingly. "You can find that in your records, right?"

She smiled back. "Sure. Wow. Murdered. Do you know who did it?"

"That's why we need the evidence," Colby purred.

She blushed, started tapping at a computer terminal. "Of course." There were several more taps. "How do you spell that?"

"Jamison. J-A-M-I-S-O-N."

"Oh! I was putting in an E. Here, here it is." She looked up and smiled brightly. "Number 328. Do you need the master key?"

He smiled back. "That would be great. Thanks."

She dug around under the counter for a bit, then handed him the small key. Colby thanked her, then headed for the alcove of lockers. At 328, he paused and stalled, waiting for the others in the room to leave. Finally, he opened the locker. Inside was a large manilla envelope. He took it out, feeling a cassette inside. When he opened it, there were papers, as well, and he drew them out, started reading. A transcript of the tape. His eyes skimmed over the pages rapidly.

It was all here. He returned the papers to the envelope and banged his head against the closed locker. It was all here.

Still leaning against the locker, he saw Don's face again when he first confronted them in the garage, Alan his hostage. He straightened, shook his head. He couldn't think about that, now. He turned to walk back to the counter and return the key to the teenager.

Then, he had something to do.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

Don rounded another corner in the hospital. It had been almost three hours since Charlie had been taken away. LAPD had issued an APB, and every cruiser was faxed Colby's photo. David and Megan were at the office, pulling his military records. Don knew he wouldn't be any good to anyone until he at least looked in on Charlie. He had checked in at Emergency, and had been surprised to hear that Charlie was in surgery. "He was lucky," the admitting nurse had told him. "Our SCI guy was still here, late rounds tonight."

"SCI?", Don had asked.

He had blanched when she answered. "Spinal cord injury."

As he moved through the hospital now, Don grimaced, remembering her words. Lucky. He wondered if Charlie _felt _lucky.

He let his anger move him, and stormed into the surgical waiting room where he had been directed. He felt himself deflate when Alan, standing and facing the wall, turned and saw him. "Donnie. Donnie."

Don quickly crossed the room, gave his father a brief hug. "Sit down, Dad. Tell me what's happening."

The two men sat in chairs facing each other.

"He's only been in surgery a few minutes," Alan started. "A CT scan showed a blood clot at…at…T11. Something called T11. They hope if they remove it, when the swelling goes down, the paralysis will be temporary. And they started giving him some corticosteroids, for the swelling. They have to be started within a few hours of the injury to help."

"They're _hoping _it will be temporary?"

Alan nodded his head miserably.

"CT scan…did they do his head, too? He took that fall in the garage."

"Yes, I told them … and they saw the bump. No skull fractures, and he was alert, not nauseated. He would fade out every now and then, though, so they think he does have a mild concussion. It could have been the pain."

"He was in a lot of pain?"

Alan nodded again. "An injury at that level of the spinal cord affects everything below it — but you still feel the injury, apparently. And his wrist. Oy, his wrist."

Don winced. "Yeah, I saw that. Can they cast it again?"

"He's having surgery on it, as well. At the same time. They're putting in some pins."

They sat in silence for a while.

"They're using some new kind of minimally invasive thing on his spinal cord," Alan finally offered. "The wrist may actually take longer." He cleared his throat. "Tell me what happened to Colby."

Don hung his head. "Nothing. We can't find him."

"I mean, _what happened_? Why did he try to hurt us? Megan said she thought it had something to do with when he was in the Army?"

"Yeah. I don't understand it all myself. LAPD called us in on some murders this week, and the only link we could find was military. Then on the last vic's computer we found an encrypted e-mail. I brought it to show Charlie tonight. Turns out it's some top secret thing even I don't have the clearance for — but Charlie helped design it."

"_**What?"**_

"I've probably told you too much about that already. The point is, that made Charlie a target, too. Along with the other mathematicians and programmers on his team, some of whom are already dead. We have more vics than we even knew."

Alan mumbled something under his breath that Don was pretty sure was Yiddish. It sounded like an old curse he used to hear his grandfather say. Don had never cared to know what it meant.

He looked at his watch. Almost midnight. "Do you think I should call Larry?"

"Already did," Alan answered. "Well, Charlie was still being examined, but I was pretty sure he wouldn't be teaching tomorrow … I don't know. Should we call again?"

Don stood and started pacing the room. "Let's wait. Maybe we'll have more to tell him in a few hours."

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

"I'll have more to tell you in a few hours," said the doctor. "There's really not anything you can do right now. It's almost 2 in the morning — you should go home and get some rest. Charlie will be in recovery for the rest of the night. Then we'll move him to ICU."

Alan paled. "ICU?"

The doctor hastened to reassure him. "Standard protocol for a spinal cord injury. The first goal is to prevent further damage, and he needs the highest level of skilled nursing care for that. We've outfitted your son with a brace that extends from cradling his neck all the way to his lower back. We don't want him moving that cord, at least for 48 hours. Then we'll be able to free up his head, use a different brace. Anyway, it's a pretty daunting sight. You should prepare yourselves for that."

"It sounds uncomfortable," Don put in. "Will you keep him sedated?"

"Not unless we have to. You're right about the discomfort, and it will be more difficult in ICU. There's a strict visitor's policy, so you'll only be able to see him for a few minutes every hour — during the day, and one at a time." The doctor rubbed his neck tiredly. He looked at Don. "You should take your father home." When the two men stood silent and dejected before him, he sighed. "Okay. I can let you look through the window into recovery. He's still on a ventilator because of the anesthesia, but that will be removed before you come back tomorrow. Just don't let it all throw you."

The doctor led them down another maze of hallways until he brought them to a window. Despite his words of warning, neither Alan nor Don were prepared for the sight. Charlie was dwarfed by the brace, the machinery. His frenetic energy was stilled. Don found himself looking at the outline of Charlie's legs under the blankets. Would they be stilled forever? He was brought back to his senses by a soft sound of distress from his father. He turned to him, gently draped an arm over his shoulder, and led him out into the night.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

Don had taken Alan to his apartment, and insisted that he take the bed. The apartment was closer to the hospital, and he wasn't sure he could face the house again tonight himself. He grabbed a few fitful hours of sleep on the couch, finally giving up at six and heading for the shower. The sound must have woken his father, who was peering into the refrigerator when Don came out of the bathroom, towel wrapped around his waist.

"I started coffee," Alan said without looking up. "Can't say I see anything that could be construed as edible in here." He shut the refrigerator door and shouted after Don's disappearing back. "Do we have time to go out for breakfast?"

Don dressed hurriedly for the day and joined his father in the kitchen, gratefully accepting the cup of coffee. "It's only 6:30, Dad. They won't let us in the hospital this soon. Still, I'd like to check in at the office right away, see what's happened in the last few hours…"

"Wouldn't someone have called you if there was a break in the case?"

Don looked at his father over the rim of the coffee cup, took his cell phone out of his pocket to make sure it was charged and there were no messages — even though he had just done that two minutes ago, before he dropped it in his jacket. He put it back without answering.

Alan cleared his throat. "So here's the plan."

Don raised an eyebrow.

"You take me home so I can change," Alan continued. "And I have actual food there. While I'm getting ready, you can cook. We'll have breakfast. The hospital said only one of us at a time anyway, so after we eat I'll go there and start pestering them, you can go to the office. Come to the hospital when you can." He tried to grin. "I'll let you have a turn whenever you show up."

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Fortified with bacon and eggs, and several more cups of coffee, Don checked his watch again as he waited for the elevator to open into the bullpen. 7:33. He was both relieved and guilty to see Megan and David already at their desks when the doors opened.

He waded in without preamble. "What did you get off Colby's military record?"

Megan looked up. "Good morning to you, too. Nothing. Just confirmation of what he's already told us. Afghanistan in '98 & '99."

"Everything he told us checks out," David stood and walked from his desk to Megan's. "He was all the places he told us he was between then and now."

"LAPD's APB?"

"Also nothing," Megan answered. "How's Charlie?"

"He looks terrible," Don admitted. "He had surgery last night, on his back and his wrist, and they put him in some huge metal and plastic contraption … now we wait for the swelling to go down, see what happens."

Megan and David were silent. The phone on Don's desk started ringing and he crossed to answer it. "Eppes." He looked over at Megan and David. "Yes, we're all here. Now? Of course. Absolutely." He replaced the receiver, still looking at them. "Merrick's here already. That was his secretary. He wants us all in his office. Now."

The three exchanged confused glances. Megan stood, and they all walked to the elevator.

Three floors and one hallway later, they were ushered into the Director's conference room, where Merrick already sat at the head of the table. He looked up at them. "I'm not sure why we're here myself. Director Samuels of the DOD is in the building. He's on his way up." He indicated the other chairs at the table. "Sit down."

The three agents did as they were told, still looking at each other uneasily. Don started drumming his fingers on the table, stopping as soon as he figured out that the sound was coming from him. He dropped his hand to his lap. There was an uncomfortable silence. Don checked his watch. He had counted off one minute and 23 seconds when they heard the door open again, and he looked up to see Director Samuels framed in the doorway, another man behind him. As the Director more fully entered the room and approached the table, the man behind him came into view.

Don didn't even feel himself rising from the chair. He didn't remember getting across the room. The next thing he was really aware of was David and Director Merrick dragging him off Colby.

He stood panting, David planted firmly between him and his former friend.

"Restrain your agent, Director. This is a courtesy call, and my agent and I can just as easily leave."

Director Merrick, standing beside Don with a hand still on his arm, looked at Director Samuels. "_Your_ agent?"

Samuels nodded and sat at the table, a cue for everyone else to do the same. Director Merrick pulled Don with him to the other end of the table, pulled out a chair for him. When they were all settled again he looked back at Director Samuels.

"I believe you have the floor."

Samuels opened a file folder. "Several years ago — it's not important that you know when, or why, or even where — a special unit was created under joint DOD/Armed Forces jurisdiction. A code was designed to enable this unit to communicate with each other in the field. Staff Sergeant Granger was part of that unit. Last year, it came to our attention at the DOD that members of both the unit and the code design team were being murdered. Our investigators believed that Sergeant First Class Ben Addison — for reasons only he could tell you — was systematically deploying his entire unit. We drafted former Private First Class Martin Jamison to go under and convince Addison that he was behind this decision, and wanted to help. Jamison's cover was blown, and Addison removed him from the equation — but not before Jamison recorded a telephone conversation between the two of them going over the details of the next planned assassination …" He looked back at the file. "A Dr. Charles Eppes." He looked back up. "I understand he's been working with this office for the past two years. The DOD would like him back on our payroll. A valuable resource." Don started to rise again, but Merrick's hand pushed him down.

Director Samuels went on. "During this phone conversation, Jamison managed to get Addison to admit to several of the murders, providing details, under the guise of coming up with a comparable plan for Dr. Eppes. Jamison had grown to distrust his handlers at the DOD, and was composing an e-mail to a former unit commander, when the plan changed. Addison must have grown distrustful himself. Instead of the original target, he changed his game plan and took out Jamison."

He looked at Colby. "At this point, we approached Staff Sergeant Granger about taking Jamison's place. He managed to convince Addison that he could use his FBI status to obtain the proof of Addison's involvement. Which he did. He brought it to me last night, and we had agents pick up Addison before midnight. He has been transported to a military prison near Washington, D.C., and will be subject to court martial with extreme haste. After an interrogation, of course."

He snapped shut the folder. "Because of Dr. Eppes' association with this office, and the unfortunate incidents of last night, the DOD has decided to inform the four of you of this operation. This information cannot leave this room. Your investigation into these murders will be closed."

Samuels stopped speaking. In the ensuing silence, the ticking of the clock on the wall could be heard. Suddenly, Colby spoke.

"I took this assignment because I was afraid to let someone else from the unit take it. I knew that Charlie could be hit before the DOD could recruit someone else, and I knew the men still alive for that recruiting pool. They wouldn't hesitate to sacrifice whoever they had to." He risked a look at Don. "I'll understand if you don't want me on your team, anymore."

This time Don did stand, shrugging off Merrick's restraining hand.

He shouted at Colby. "_You'll understand? You'll understand? You terrorized my father, you paralyzed my brother!"_

Colby kept his seat, watching Don advance. "That wasn't supposed to happen. His back injury yesterday was so new my intel hadn't caught it yet. I didn't know."

Don pivoted where he stood and stared at Director Merrick. "One of us is leaving this team."

The Director stood. He looked from Don to Director Samuels. "I believe your work is done here. I'd appreciate it if you left this building." He looked at Don again. "And please, take your Sergeant with you."


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11 **

Charlie was miserable.

Someone had buried a knife in his back, down around his waist, and whoever it was wouldn't stop twisting. The knife must be on fire, as well, because it was burning him.

He wanted to try and reach it, to take it out, but one hand was throbbing in agony and the other, he saw when he opened his eyes a slit, was attached to a fishing pole. He could see the line, feel the hook in the back of his hand.

He tried to get a better look at it, but discovered he couldn't move his head. Apparently, he had also fallen into some kind of flying insect trap. He was surrounded by a cage. No, not surrounded, exactly … he was the cage. The cage was part of him. At least his legs didn't hurt. In fact, they must be stuck in the bait, because he couldn't seem to move them.

He moaned in frustration and pain, jerked on the fishing wire hand to push at the cage. That just made the hook pull harder at him, and the knife twist more in his back, and he moaned again.

His father's disembodied head floated in front of him, eyes concerned. He felt someone move his hand away from the cage, but he didn't know if it was his father. He kept sliding out of his line of vision. Charlie tried again to move his head.

Was someone taking a sledgehammer to his other arm?

He squeezed his eyes shut. This had to be a dream. A nightmare. He just had to sink under it again, and when he woke up, it would all be better.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Alan sat in the waiting area closest to the ICU and checked the clock on the wall. He could go back in 37 minutes. They hadn't let him in until 8, and they only let him stay five minutes. The second time, at 9, Charlie had awakened a little. Just enough to moan and try to escape the brace, not enough to really acknowledge his father. The nurse had been so busy trying to keep Charlie from moving, she had let Alan stay for seven minutes and help her. After Charlie closed his eyes again and seemed to sleep, a groan still escaped with every exhale, and she had given him more Demeral.

35 minutes. Alan picked up a magazine, turned the pages without focusing on any words.

"Dad."

He looked up, surprised to hear Don's voice so soon. "Son. I thought it would take you longer."

Don sat down heavily. "Long enough. Merrick made me see the department shrink. He says I have anger issues."

"Who? Merrick or the department shrink?"

Don ran a hand through his hair. "Both."

"What happened? What's going on with Colby?"

"Everything. Nothing. Remember that security clearance I mentioned?"

Alan nodded.

"Well, Charlie's may be higher than mine — but yours is lower. Can't really tell you what happened."

Alan raised an eyebrow. "But it's over? Just like that?"

Don nodded. "How's Charlie?"

"I've only seen him twice. The second time he halfway woke up, but not really. You can go in another 29 minutes."

"You haven't gotten to talk to him yet, Dad. I can wait. Seems I have a couple of days off, so I'll be around."

Alan patted his arm. "No, no, I promised. You can go next." Alan looked at the clock again. "Although I'm going to go crazy sitting here. I think I'll take a walk outside. I can turn my cell back on out there. I'll call Larry."

"Megan and David send their concern. I told them they couldn't get in to see Charlie, or they would have come with me. The whole team's shut down for a couple of days."

Alan frowned. "Should I be glad I don't know what happened?"

Don didn't answer, so Alan stood and stretched, looked at the clock again. He gripped Don's shoulder. "In 27 minutes. See that buzzer there? In front of the double doors?"

Don nodded.

"Push that and someone will talk to you. Say you're Charlie Eppes' brother, and they'll buzz the doors open."

"Okay. How long will they let me stay?"

"I think it depends on what you find. Five or ten minutes?"

"So … 10:15. I'll meet you in the cafeteria. Coffee."

"That sounds good." Alan looked at the double doors again and sighed. "If he's awake, tell him I'll be right in."

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

This time when he woke up, he didn't open his eyes. He could feel that he was still trapped. Everything still hurt … except the parts he couldn't feel at all. He lay there, and remembered it all.

He remembered the frustration of the original assignment with the DOD, and how long it had taken him to process that. It was one of the things that drove him to help Don on his cases whenever he could. He still felt like he had to make it up to the universe, somehow, do penance to the cosmos.

He remembered the fear when he had seen his father handcuffed and gagged. The disbelief when Colby had become someone other than Colby.

He remembered the pain. The fall on the cement.

He remembered the ongoing argument with Don all night, the way they had weaved back and forth between it and the encryption. He remembered that he was wrong, because he had seen Don's face when he thought he'd shot him, and Don had let Colby go because he wouldn't leave until he knew Charlie was all right. He had seen Don's face when he came back to him to wait for the ambulance. He had felt him hold his hand.

He remembered the shock when he figured out that he couldn't feel his legs.

A single tear squeezed out of one eye and rolled lazily down his face, cutting a path through the stubble and landing in his ear. He willed himself to stop, because he couldn't even wipe the tears away. He couldn't lift his broken wrist, and the other hand was tethered to an IV, he finally realized, and wouldn't stretch that far. Despite his resolve, another tear squeezed out, and he felt a hand touch his face, catch it before it rolled into his ear. He opened his eyes then, and looked into those of his brother.

"It's all right," Don said quietly. "I'll take care of everything."


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

The next few days were as hard on Alan and Don as they were on Charlie. His father and brother knew how miserable he was, and it was difficult not to be able to at least sit beside him, offer him some sort of distraction.

During the few minutes they did have with him, Charlie didn't talk much. They weren't sure if that was because the brace made it uncomfortable, or because he didn't want to. Don suspected it was a little of both. During the hours he took a turn with Charlie, his brother never asked about Colby, or talked about what happened. When he did talk, it was about something before the night it had happened.

He never complained about being unable to work, either — and that's what concerned Alan the most. Charlie had always used his math to help him deal with experiences that overwhelmed him, and this had to be astronomically overwhelming. Maybe he was doing equations in his head.

On the morning of the third day they waited anxiously while Charlie was taken for a new CT scan and fitted with a lumbar brace. When he was brought back to the ICU, Dr. Reston, the surgeon, was with him. "You can both come in," he said when he saw them waiting in the chairs. "Now that the critical period is over, we'll be transferring Charlie to a regular room later today." The double doors swung open and the procession continued to ICU. Dr. Reston looked over the rolling bed to Alan. "CT scan looks good. The swelling has gone down a great deal. I think he'll be much more comfortable in this brace."

Alan was trying to look at him and Charlie at the same time. Charlie's eyes had been closed since he'd come back up. He must have fallen asleep.

Dr. Reston lingered after the orderlies had settled Charlie's bed back in place. "I'd like to show you something."

He lifted the blanket and sheet off the end of the bed, revealing Charlie's feet. "Charlie. Try to move your legs for me." Alan looked back at his son's face in surprise. He wasn't sleeping? He looked quickly at Don, whose eyes were fastened on Charlie's feet. "Charlie," said the doctor again, louder. "I know you're tired. Your father and your brother are waiting."

It was so slight, the tilting of his feet toward each other, Alan thought it wasn't real. He looked at Don again, saw the smile on his face, and knew that it was. "Charlie!" He smiled at his son, whose eyes were still closed, but at least he got a small verbal response.

"Tired…"

"Okay, Charlie, go back to sleep. We're done now." Dr. Reston looked at Alan and Don. "They gave him another hit of Demerol down in ortho. He probably won't remember this."

Don finally spoke. "Doc, this is great! This means the paralysis was temporary!"

"We'll talk outside in a moment. But I wanted you both to look at his right foot — see how the toes drop lower than his left? This is an early indication of at least some nerve damage." He waited for them to see what he was talking about, and covered Charlie's feet again, then led them outside the ICU back to the waiting area.

"So?" Alan looked at the doctor.

"First, your son is right, this is encouraging news. Recovery of some movement or sensation within one week usually indicates eventual recovery of most function. But Charlie's not walking out of here. With physical therapy and rehab, it could take up to six months for him to regain whatever he's going to regain. As I said, I suspect some nerve damage, so I'm not sure how well he'll ever be able to use his right leg. It could be minimal. Best case scenario, he'll learn to walk again, and you won't notice anything unless he's tired."

Don asked the question for both of them. "Worst case scenario?"

"He doesn't regain enough function to walk again, or his right leg is so impaired it prohibits his walking."

He waited for this to sink in. "You need to start thinking about rehab. We like to send our patients on to a rehab facility within 15 days of the acute injury, and we'll have to see who has an open bed."

Alan shook his head. "He'll come home, of course."

Dr. Reston spoke gently. "Mr. Eppes, the physical and occupational therapy Charlie needs will help him best if it's provided by professionals, around-the-clock. It's only been three days and there is some movement and sensation already, so I don't expect that he'll be there long. Three weeks, a month. I have some brochures in my office. There's an excellent facility just an hour out of L.A. in Riverside, if we can get him in there."

"Then we could be with him every day, Dad," Don started.

Dr. Reston interrupted. "You'll be meeting with therapists yourselves, of course, and they'll help you decide how to best prepare for his return home. As far as daily visits, Charlie's going to be working. Harder than he has ever worked before. When he's not in therapy, he'll be exhausted. Frequent visitation is discouraged."

He saw Alan's face fall. "I'm not saying you can never see him. He's not going to prison. You can speak with staff at whichever facility you choose about their policies. And it won't be for at least a week. He still has plenty of healing to do."

"I can't hire people to help him at home?"

The doctor sat down, and waited until Alan did also. He took a moment to pull himself out of the routine of his life, the hurry of his days. Then he looked at him and spoke slowly, quietly. "Mr. Eppes, you'll make that decision when the time comes. My experience with spinal cord injuries tells me that a rehabilitation facility is the best choice for the injury — but that doesn't mean it's the best choice for Charlie. You know your son much better than I do. Just keep an open mind. Do some research over the next 10 days or so. I'll give you the brochures, use the Internet, perhaps visit the Riverside facility. I didn't mean to imply that you have to decide this today — or alone. I'm sure your oldest son will help, and by all means, don't leave Charlie out of the loop. Give him a few days to feel better, then start talking with him about it. And of course, I'll be happy to do what I can."

Alan took a breath, smiled tentatively. "Of course. I wasn't thinking." His voice became wistful. "I guess I was hoping he'd just get up and walk away."

Don had been standing during the exchange between his father and Dr. Reston, but suddenly he felt the need to sit down. He passed behind them and took a chair in the corner. He could no longer hear their words clearly. He just stared at the wall, and thought. The doctor was right. His Dad was right. Everybody was right.

Charlie wasn't walking away from this one.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

Charlie sighed, and Don turned his attention away from CNN. His brother smiled. "This is just so much more comfortable."

Don grinned. It had been two days since Charlie had been moved, and he _looked_ better. Still flat on his back, but the head of the bed was usually raised about 15 degrees, the new brace let him move his head — and someone had finally shaved him this morning. Occasionally his legs would jerk in muscle spasm, something Don had a hard time getting used to. He saw it happen now, turned off the television.

"Can you feel that?"

"Sometimes. I think. Maybe I just feel the bed shake. It's weird."

"Looks weird. But you feel more every day, right?"

"That's what they tell me." Charlie looked at him. "Not that they tell me much. Dad tells me even less. Which at least makes it easier to talk him into taking a few hours off. Anyway … I'm just thinking … this could take a while."

Don held his gaze. "Your doctor told us it could take up to six months for you to regain … for you to get better. But the sensation and movement this early is a good indication it will all come back, Charlie. It's going to take a lot of work. Physical therapy. Occupational therapy." Don tried to lighten the mood. "Why don't you throw in some psycho therapy?"

Charlie looked away from him with the briefest of smiles. "So. There are places for all that. Right?"

"There are rehabilitation centers for spinal cord injuries. Dr. Reston gave us some brochures, and I think Dad's hitting the 'Net at night. He wants you to come home after the hospital, hire some therapists to help you at home."

"This is hard for him."

Don briefly touched his brother's hand, careful of the IV. "He'll be okay. He wants to do what's best for you. I'll help him."

He got a full smile for that. "I'm sure you already are. Can I see the brochures? I don't have much to do, here. Larry asked me last night if I wanted my lap top … then he remembered it's in about seven pieces in the computer lab."

Don chuckled. "Bummer. How's that going?"

"Not sure. He said he'll check on it today." Charlie turned his attention to his broken wrist, finally sporting a new cast. "Couldn't keyboard much right now anyway."

Don looked at his watch and stood. "Dad's got the brochures at home, but I can go down to Dr. Reston's office and get more. We can look at them together. It's almost time for lunch. They have pretty good deli sandwiches in the cafeteria — I could bring back a couple?"

Charlie smiled up at him. "That would be amazing. I would so love not to eat whatever lives on the trays they bring in here."

Don headed for the door. "Turkey, mayo, tomato, lettuce, pickle. Your favorite for about the last 30 years. I'll be right back." He shot Charlie one last grin at the doorway and headed down the hall.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Colby waited until he saw Don leave the room.

He knew Mr. Eppes wasn't there anymore, he had seen him leave earlier, and he hadn't come back yet.

He made sure a newspaper hid his face while Don waited for the elevator. Once he had gotten in and Colby heard the "ding" of the doors closing, he folded the paper, laid it on the chair next to him, stood and headed down the corridor.

Quietly, he pushed open the door. Quickly, he scanned the room.

Charlie was alone. His eyes were closed.

Colby crossed to the bed, stopped near Charlie's head. He waited, letting his eyes travel the length of the bed.

A sudden jerk under the blanket startled him. Charlie's leg was moving. Relief flooded him, and his eyes traveled back up to Charlie's face. He was startled again to see wide eyes staring back at him.

"Please." It was a whisper. "Please leave me alone."

"Charlie, I'm on my way out of town. I just came to …"

Charlie tried to push himself away from Colby. His voice raised, his breaths began to come in short, staccato bursts. "I know what you came to do. Why didn't you do it then? You're here to kill me." Unable to move his body sufficiently, he raised his IV-laden hand and waved it wildly in Colby's direction. His eyes were wild with fright, he was gasping for air. "Get away! Get … Get …"

Colby grabbed his arm, but Charlie jerked it back so hard he ripped the IV line right out of his hand. "Stop!" He was having trouble getting enough air. He thought that the fear might kill him before Colby did.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Don stepped out of the elevator clutching the brochures. Standing in line at the cafeteria, he'd decided at the last minute to hit the deli down the street instead, and get some really good sandwiches. He was pleased that Charlie seemed so interested in food, and he wanted to make it worth it. He was going back to Charlie's room for his keys.

He was halfway there when he recognized his brother's voice. He was yelling, panicked. He wanted someone to stop.

Don broke into a run and slammed through the door to the room. He saw Colby standing over Charlie's bed, holding onto his arm. The brochures dropping to the floor, he was across the room in seconds.

"LET GO OF HIM!" Don crashed into Colby in a full tackle and slammed him several feet back against the wall. He grabbed Colby's shirt and jerked him forward, slammed him into the wall again. This time he followed through with a fist to the gut, and uppercut to the jaw. Colby sagged to the floor and Don kicked him once, then dragged him back up to slam him into the wall again.

He knew that Colby wasn't fighting back, and he could hear the hum of voices behind him, but he didn't care. He kept hitting, kept screaming, until he had Colby at the other end of the room, huddled unconscious on the floor, and he was dragged off by a couple of burly orderlies.

He stood panting over Colby, and slowly began to come back to himself.

"Just breathe, Charlie, you're all right. It's okay. Slow it down for me. Come on."

He looked toward the bed and saw three nurses. One was leaning over the head of the bed, trying to hold down Charlie's head and shoulders. Another leaned over one side, speaking directly into his ear, a hand rubbing soothing circles on his chest. A third was at the other side, attending to his hand, which was bleeding.

Where had all these people come from?

Dr. Reston burst through the door, then. "10 of Ativan," he ordered brusquely, glancing at Don, whose breathing still heaved, and at the body on the floor. "What the hell is going on in here?"

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

By the time Alan entered Charlie's room two hours later, things were calm again.

He approached the bed and looked with confusion at the bandage on Charlie's hand, the IV that now fed a vein in the inner elbow. He brushed at Charlie's curls. He was sleeping soundly … almost drugged, again. What was going on?

Alan turned to leave the room to find a nurse, and got to the door just as Don was coming through. Alan looked at him, surprised. "I thought you were going back to work after lunch."

Don raised a hand to his hair, and Alan took in his bruised and bloody knuckles. "What happened? Are you all right?"

Don looked at him. "Suspended. I'm suspended."

Alan gaped at him. "What? Why? What did you do?"

Don led his father into the hall, so that they wouldn't disturb Charlie. "I beat the shit out of Colby Granger."


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

That evening, after Charlie was awake and lucid again, Don told the story for the third time. Alan, who'd already heard the unbelievable tale once that day, listened quietly and without interrupting, hoping to catch something he'd missed the first time around.

"So," Don looked carefully at Charlie, "Colby was under the whole time, for the DOD. They pulled rank on us and closed down the investigation. Merrick fired Granger." He glanced ruefully at his skinned knuckles. "Although he told me this afternoon that he may have fired the wrong guy."

Alan made a clucking noise of distress and Don looked over at him. "He wasn't serious, Dad. Colby crossed the line, here. He crossed it when he held a loaded gun to your head, when he hurt Charlie. He crossed it again when he showed up at the hospital. He had to know Charlie wouldn't have the whole story, yet, he had to know the kid was going to freak out. Merrick just suspended me to appease the DOD. It's only five days, and it's with pay … plus, I have to go back to the shrink."

Charlie let out a breath. "Poor Colby."

Don looked at him. "What?"

"I'm just saying, he lost a lot himself. All those old friends. All his new friends. His job." He was silent for a while. Then, "Do you know why he came to the hospital?"

Don couldn't believe his brother felt sorry for Colby. "He's … well, he's leaving town. He said he wanted to apologize."

"You broke his nose?"

Don nodded. "And his jaw. Look, I didn't know why he was here. I came in and he had his hands on you, and you were struggling. To be honest, I'm not sure it would have mattered if I had known. The guy pissed me off."

Alan finally spoke. "You do have anger issues."

Charlie shifted his broken wrist on its pillow. " 'The kid was going to freak out'?"

Don grinned at him. "Yeah. That's what I said."

"I did not freak …" Charlie flickered his eyes from Don to his father, back again. "Okay. So maybe I freaked out. But I am not a kid."

"Always will be in this group," countered Don.

Charlie sighed. "I never got a turkey sandwich."

"Tomorrow," his brother promised. "Apparently I have a few more days off. We can have lunch tomorrow."

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Over the next several days, Charlie continued to improve. He poured over the brochures from spinal cord injury rehab facilities, as well as recovery information downloaded for him by Larry. He talked extensively with the physicians and therapists at the hospital.

While Don was glad to see Charlie taking an active role in his recovery, there were still times when he couldn't get his brother to talk, when he found him staring at the wall, or pretending to sleep. He tried to accept those times, and give Charlie the space he needed to accept what had happened to him.

Once, after Don had finally returned to work, he came by the hospital one evening while Larry was visiting. He could see lines of fatigue around Charlie's eyes, and wondered how long his friend had been there.

"Hey, Larry."

"Don! It's good to see you. I've told Charles that I'm surprised we've managed to miss each other these last 8 days. I would, of course, be happy to offer you assistance, should you come across a case for which you would usually consult Charles."

"Thanks, Larry. I'll keep that in mind."

Larry began to gather himself together. "I don't want to tire you, Charles. I'm sure you'd enjoy some time with your brother." Larry stood, offering Don his chair. "Oh! Yes, I intended to inform you, Charles. I spoke with Amita, today. She inquired as to your progress, and asked that I advise you of her intention to telephone, soon."

Charlie, now blessedly free of the IV, lifted his hand to rub his temple. "I guess it's a good thing she went to Boston. It's not like I'd be of much use to her now."

Don was shocked by Charlie's words, as well as the dejected tone of voice, and he could see that even Larry was nonplussed. Not that he let that stop him.

"Nonsense, Charles. This is simply a roadblock, a hurdle, if you will. If your paralysis had proven to be permanent, it wouldn't matter to those of us who love you. It is not your legs alone that draw us to you, young friend."

"Larry's right," Don added, and Charlie nodded his head a little.

"I'm sorry. I'm just a little tired tonight. I had my first PT this afternoon. I guess it took a lot out of me."

Larry raised a hand to his mouth. "Oh, dear. And here I've stayed too long, and made it worse."

Charlie smiled a little at his friend's distress. "It's okay, Larry. You weren't here that long."

"Nevertheless, I will take my leave at this instant. Rest well, Charles. I have a faculty meeting tomorrow evening, but please telephone if you require something before I return in a few days."

Don walked Larry to the door, assuring him that he would call if he needed his help on a case, then crossed back to the chair by Charlie's bed. Charlie was resting his head on the pillow, and his eyes were closed. Don sat quietly. "Hey. What's really wrong? Amita hasn't even called you?"

Charlie remained in position. "It's not that," he said. "Well … not entirely. I still have regrets about Amita, about not moving soon enough. So it is that. And PT. It's just … disconcerting. Being faced with all I can't do. Ten days ago, the weather was great. I rode my bike to school. Ten days ago. A lifetime ago."

His voice was fading, and Don knew he really was tired, but he couldn't let him sleep yet. "Buddy, you're going to get through this. If anybody can do it, you can. I know you. You've got it in you, Charlie."

Charlie smiled a little, eyes still closed. He yawned. "Thanks, Do…"

He was asleep before he finished the sentence.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Alan peered into the hydrotherapy room. "After all those torture devices we saw in physical therapy, I can imagine that this would feel pretty good at the end of a long day."

The admitting clerk laughed. "We do get a lot more cooperation in this room. But all of our residents work hard at PT; they all want to go home as soon as possible. I'm sure your son won't be any different."

Alan leaned over and stuck his fingertips in the water. "That's warm!"

"It's kept at the optimal temperature for muscle relaxation, and it is warmer than your average backyard pool. The residents don't just lounge around like it's a hot tub, though. There's hard work in here, too."

Alan straightened and looked at Don. "A hot tub. Maybe we should get a hot tub for when Charlie comes home."

Don smiled. His father seemed to be accepting the idea of a rehab facility a little more. "If you get a hot tub, I may have to move back home."

The clerk indicated the corridor, smiling, and they moved back into it. "You can talk to his case manager and therapists about that. It's not an uncommon recommendation." She led the way back past several PT rooms and into another section of the building. "This is our residential wing," she said. "Residents are allowed televisions in their rooms, but many find it easier to come here to the rec room. It's a social outlet. We also have a pool table, as you can see, and many other activities are available."

"The table is so low," Alan started, and then reddened. "Wheelchair height."

"That's right. There's also a small library down the hall. Some computers are available there. We have internet service in that room, although I'm afraid we don't have direct access in each living unit yet …"

They continued walking until she paused at another door. "This is a typical living suite. This one happens to be empty right now, but we have a resident scheduled to arrive this afternoon, and another in the morning."

She led the way inside. Walking beside his father, Don felt Alan stiffen. "Charlie would have to share a room?" He looked at Don. "I'm not sure he'd do well with that. You boys only shared a room when we were on vacation, and he never even had a college roommate…"

"We do have two-bed living areas, but both beds aren't always occupied. Residents rarely come in at the same time, or share the same length of stay. It wouldn't be strange for the other bed to be empty at least part of the time your son is here. And remember, residents really spend very little time here. Physical, hydro and occupational therapy take up most of the day, and there are often additional sessions in the evening, if staff and resident feel it can be tolerated."

"You know Charlie, Dad." Don tried to reassure Alan. "He'll work harder than anyone wants him to. If they don't schedule him for an evening session, he'll find a way to talk them into it." He looked around the room again. "Besides, it'll do him good to have a roommate." He caught his father's look and shrugged. "Briefly."

Alan ignored him, and turned to the clerk. "I haven't noticed any sort of communal dining room."

"No, there isn't one. We find that lends to an institutional, permanent feel that we'd rather not foster. Meals are served in a resident's living area. Many then choose to eat elsewhere. There's a nice garden in back, for instance. We don't use a planned menu, either. Residents order their meals, much as you would at any restaurant." She smiled. "Just a little further in advance."

The three began to walk back toward the admitting office. Alan asked another question. "You use the word 'resident', instead of patient?"

"Yes…although policy tends to change on that. On the one hand, we want the people who come here to feel like it's their home for the time they are with us. On the other, 'patient' has a more temporary feel to it, and we also like them to know that it's everyone's goal for them to go home."

"Does everyone?"

She shook her head. "Some are transferred to other, long-term facilities. But over 80 percent learn the daily living skills they'll need here to return to an independent life. We have a very high transition rate."

They entered the clerk's office and she indicated chairs for them, then removed a sheet of paper from the fax as she passed on the way to her own chair behind the desk. "Ah. Dr. Reston estimates that Charlie will transferred in three days…that's…" She looked at a file. "Twelve days after his surgery. That's excellent. I can see that you're right, he's a hard worker."

She turned a file around to face Alan. "These are his admittance papers. You can help him fill these out — I understand his wrist is broken also — and fax them to us, as soon as possible."

Alan reached out for the papers, and both Don and the clerk noticed that his hand was shaking. She reached out to lay her own hand gently on top of his. "I understand how difficult this has all been. But coming here is an important transitional step. You told me he's done the research. Trust your son. Let him tell you what he needs, right now."

Alan sighed and looked at Don. "I've always trusted both of my sons." He took the papers in a now-steady hand, smiled at them both. "I'm sure Charlie knows what he's doing."


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15 • PHONE CALLS**

_Don automatically checked the caller ID. Unfamiliar number. "Eppes."_

"_You don't have this number programmed in yet? I'm hurt."_

_Don smiled. "You won't be there that long, Charlie. How are you? How is it?"_

"_I'm okay. Things are still pretty new. It's only been four days."_

_Don frowned. Charlie's voice definitely lacked enthusiasm._

"_But it's going okay, so far?"_

"_Yeah…" Charlie sighed. "They can't get me up on parallel bars, yet. That's the first step — literally. It's going to put things behind a couple of weeks."_

"_What's the problem?"_

"_My wrist. A lot of stress goes on your arms, at first. They x-rayed it today, and said I have to wait at least two more weeks for the bars."_

"_Oh … I'm sorry …" Don looked at his watch. Almost 4. "Look, it's pretty slow here. I could jet out early, come out to see you. I could be there in time for dinner. Bring McDonald's, or something."_

"_I'm okay, Don. It's okay. Besides, I have a hydro session this evening. I'm going to have to hit everything else harder to make up for this."_

_Don smiled. As if Charlie wouldn't have, anyway. "Right."_

"_Listen, Don?" Charlie's voice sounded tentative._

"_Yeah?"_

"_Dad and Larry are coming out Sunday. I told them they didn't have to, it's a long way for just an hour or two …"_

"_Dad told me. He's really looking forward to it."_

"_Do … Is … Would …"_

_Don laughed. "Cut it out, Charlie. Of course I'm coming too."_

_Relieved laughter. "Okay. Good. How are things there? Need Larry's help yet?"_

"_Actually, I may talk to him about something on Sunday. It's not really a case, the department just wants to design a new case archiving system."_

"_Oh …" Charlie sounded disappointed._

"_There's no real hurry. I could wait for you to get back."_

_Charlie's voice was definitely dejected. "No, you'd better have Larry do it. I don't know when I'll be back. Back in Pasadena, back working — I don't know."_

_Dom searched for a way to cheer Charlie up. "Listen, Buddy — do they have ESPN coming in there?"_

"_I think so. I don't watch much television."_

"_Then you missed last night's game."_

"_You watch it with Dad?"_

"_Yeah, even got there in time for dinner. Tri tip, dude."_

"_Shut up. Tell me about it."_

"_The tri tip, or the game?"_

"_No matter what they told you, the food here is not like ordering from a restaurant. Skip the tri tip."_

_Don smiled again. "Right. The Padres were robbed. I was robbed, since I had a bet going with Dad."_

"_Let me guess. Bad calls?"_

"_Man, these umps shouldn't be in the league. Take the third inning. Anderson hits a stand-up double, and while he's on base…"_

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

_Don rolled over in bed and hoped he caught the call before it went to voice mail._

"_Eppes."_

"_I'm sorry, you sound half asleep. I called too late."_

"_Never too late, Charlie, you know that. Call anytime." Don yawned into the phone._

_Charlie chuckled. "I can tell."_

_Don squinted at the alarm clock. "Really, it's not that late. I was working half the night and all day. By the way, I'm sorry I didn't get to come with Dad and Larry on Sunday. I caught a case."_

"_Yeah, Dad told me. It's okay. I don't think the whole visiting thing is going to work out for me."_

"_Why not?"_

"_It's too hard. Waiting for them, then watching the clock the whole time they were here, then having to watch them leave without me. Really blew my concentration. I had terrible sessions for two days afterwards."_

_Don sat up a little in the bed, leaning against the wall. "I guess we didn't think of that. Dr. Reston tried to tell us."_

"_It's so important to Dad."_

"_You coming home is more important. If he knew his visits were slowing you down, he'd hate himself."_

_Charlie sighed. "I know. So I can't tell him. I feel like such a wuss. Sitting in my chair in the parking lot, watching them drive away, I felt like I was eight years old again and they were making me go to sleep-away camp. Remember?"_

_Don smiled into the phone. "I remember a counselor called two days later and said he couldn't get you to stop crying long enough to sleep or eat. Mom and Dad had to go pick you up."_

"_I hate watching people leave me. I said I heard the phone ringing so I could run back in he house and answer it, when you were leaving for spring training. I already had a Bachelor's degree by then."_

"_Which made you what, 17?"_

"_16. Doesn't matter. I'll get used to it."_

_Don turned serious. "Charlie, Dad will understand. He knows you're working hard, it's important to him that he help you. Even if that means not seeing you for awhile."_

_His brother didn't answer._

"_Do you want me to talk to him?"_

"_I am such a wuss."_

_Don started to smile, but it turned in to another yawn. "Don't worry about it," he breathed. "That's what older brothers are for." _

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

_Don was arguing over the check with David when he felt the vibration in his pocket. He used the movement of one hand in retrieving the cell phone to distract David, and grabbed the check while he was at it. "Eppes."_

"_Hey. I juss god baa to by room. I god a message tha you called. Is everyding oday?"_

_Don dropped the ticket long enough to cup his free hand over his ear so that he could hear better. It sounded like Charlie was crying. "Sure, I'm okay. Just haven't talked to you in a while. I'm not really sure what your schedule is, so I took a chance. What's with you? You sound horrible."_

"_I god a code."_

_Don frowned and tilted his head a little, still trying to hear better. "A code? Charlie, don't tell me you're designing another encryption in your spare time. I knew we shouldn't have left you anywhere there was a computer."_

_Nod a 'code', Don, a 'code'. In by node."_

_Don smiled and dropped his hand from his ear, noticed that the lunch check was gone again. "Ah. A cold. How did that happen? Too much hydro therapy?"_

_Charlie sniffed. "I dunno." There was a sudden clatter as if the phone were dropped. Don was pretty sure he heard a sneeze. Rustling followed. Finally, "Sowwy. I had to switch hads. My wriss is killig me."_

_Don brightened. "That's right, they were finally going to let you try the bars yesterday. Too much?"_

"_I don tink it was dat. Took cass off too, so now I have more terapy, on my wriss. And they wooden led me in da waddah lass ni, so I coulden soad ii."_

_In spite of himself Don laughed. "I'm sorry, Charlie. But 'da waddah'? Come on."_

_Megan was waving a hand for the cell. Don handed it to her._

"_Charlie! How are you? We were all just sitting here at lunch when you called."_

"_Hey, Medan. Good to heah you. Everding is allrigh dear?"_

_Megan chuckled. "Yeah, Charlie, but you sound terrible. I miss you. I'm helping your Dad plan a barbecue for when you come home."_

_She heard apprehension in his voice. "Weally?"_

"_Don't worry," she assured him. "I think I can talk him into giving you a few weeks to reacclimate." She shook David's hand off her arm. "Listen, David is here, too. He wants to say hello." She passed the cell along._

"_Whiz Kid! How ya doing?"_

_Everybody froze. 'Whiz Kid' was a nickname coined and most often used by Colby. David looked at Don in fear._

_Charlie held the phone away on his end and coughed a little. He used the break to decide to ignore it. He came back on the line. "Sowwy. Cuse me. I'm … doing well, David. Dis is tading longah dan I hoped, bud everyone else deems happy wid by progress."_

"_I'm sure you're working circles around them, Charlie. Looking forward to your coming home." David still felt terrible for his earlier slip, and now he couldn't get off the phone fast enough. He shoved it at Don as he stood and left the table to go pay the check._

"_Me, again," Don said into the phone. "David freaked himself out a little. I think he expects me to break his nose."_

_Charlie started to laugh, but erupted in coughing again, and held the receiver away for a moment. Finally, he came back on. "S'okay." He was still a little out of breath. "Dill wadig for a new deam membah?"_

"_Yeah."_

_Charlie's voice took on a sudden edge. "Bud you're all wording togeddah, ride? Cubbering each udder?"_

_Don smiled again. "Don't worry about us, Charlie. Of course we are. You really sound terrible, Buddy. Take a nap. Skip a session."_

_Charlie sighed. "Only one, oday? I'll maa it up tonii."_

"_I'm sure you will. Take care of yourself."_

_Another sneeze. "U do, Donnie." _

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

"_Is that your cell?" Alan raised an eyebrow over the forkful of roast._

_Don pushed himself away from the table. "Left it in the living room." He grabbed it off the coffee table during the last ringtone before forwarding to voice mail._

"_Eppes."_

"_Guess what?"_

_Don smiled, relaxed into the sofa. "You sound better."_

"_I told you, I just needed the one nap. Are you going to guess?"_

"_You're walking."_

_The silence ticked on just a little too long, and Don mentally kicked himself._

"_In a manner of speaking." Charlie's voice was noncommittal. "But that's not it."_

"_I don't have room in my mouth for both feet, Buddy. Just tell me."_

_That at least got Charlie to laugh, and his previous enthusiasm crept back into his voice. "I'm growing a beard."_

_Don laughed. "You're what?"_

"_You heard me. I may grow it until I go back to work fall semester. I think it makes me look more like a professor — especially if you pair it with a cane. Maybe I'll be up to a cane by then. Anyway, one of my therapists thinks it looks very sexy."_

"_Please tell me it's not Mark."_

"_Very funny, Don. Actually, I think Mark likes it too, but I was talking about Linda."_

"_I thought you said you'd met Linda's husband?"_

"_I have. And I've met Mark's husband, too. What about it?"_

_Don shook his head. "A beard. Dad will flip."_

"_Actually, I figure it will take his mind off my hair."_

_Don laughed out loud. _

_Alan stood in the doorway to the dining room. He watched his oldest son relax farther into the couch, put his feet on the coffee table, heard his laugh as he talked to his brother. He smiled, and backed away into the dining room again._

_Everything was going to be all right._


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

Charlie was right.

Since Alan had seen his beard when he and Don drove to Riverside to pick Charlie up, he had never once mentioned his hair.

The beard drove him crazy — Charlie was shaving it off later that very day — but the itching and sweating and finding yesterday's breakfast was worth the look on his father's face, so he didn't tell him that. He would just surprise him later.

They had driven Alan's car. It was easier than Don's SUV. The seats were more on a level with Charlie when he was transferring to and from the chair. While he had progressed as far as using a walker some once he was inside the house, the chair was still a necessity for the time being. He looked forward to a summer of outpatient therapy at a local spinal cord injury rehab. He had a deadline. He was walking back into class in September.

They parked in the driveway. Don quickly got out of the back seat and retrieved the chair from the trunk. He stood awkwardly at the open passenger door, unsure as to his next move.

Charlie smiled up at him. "That's good. Just make sure the brakes are locked. I can do it."

Don moved behind the chair after he locked the brakes, just to make sure, and was surprised again, like he had been in Riverside, at how easily his brother made the transition. He smiled a little and retreated to the trunk again, to help his father with the bags.

"I want to stop at the garage." Charlie was moving, already. "I drew up some plans while I was gone. I won't be able to stand at the boards for a while, so I was thinking of remodeling." He looked back over the chair. "I don't know, though — what do you think? We'll just have to move it all back, later." Charlie stopped in the doorway. Don came up behind him, thinking the door was too narrow for the chair. He saw when he got there that it should fit, although Charlie would have to be careful not to skin his knuckles. Why wasn't he moving? Don looked at his brother and tried to follow his gaze.

His bicycle.

His bicycle was leaning against the far wall.

"Let's … Let's just do this later," Charlie said, waiting for Don to move so that he could back up. "I can show you my ideas after I've unpacked."

Alan had taken a duffle inside, and was waiting at the top of the ramp that now approached the kitchen door. Charlie stopped at the bottom. "When did you do this?"

"You've been gone six weeks, son. I've been busy. There's one leading up to the front door, too." Alan couldn't read the look on Charlie's face. "I talked with your therapists, and case manager, about what you would need when you came home … did I do something wrong?"

Charlie shook his head, as if coming out of a trance and smiled up at his father. "No, No, of course not. I'll need things to help me for a while, you're right."

Don was still at his back. "It's all just temporary, Chuck. It will come down as easily as it went up." Charlie nodded, but stayed silent, and stationary. Don prodded. "Except the hot tub. Once that's in, it's staying."

Charlie twisted around to look at him. "What hot tub?"

Don grinned. "We tried to get it installed before you got here, but it's taking longer because it's a custom order. We made some special modifications — but not too many, because this chair is just temporary. You'll have to let someone help you in and out, for awhile."

Charlie looked back up at his father. "That's too much. You don't have to do that."

Don pushed the back of the chair gently. "Get going. And didn't you even read the stuff we faxed you to sign? You've got some great disability insurance. I think it's better than mine."

Charlie was finally wheeling up the ramp. "My insurance paid for a hot tub?"

"Not entirely, but it put a big dent in it. And you can write off the rest on your taxes."

Charlie dropped over the small lip into the kitchen. "Then I hope it's a big hot tub."

Alan smiled. "Maybe we'll have it in time for the barbecue."

Don walked around the chair to take the bags he was carrying upstairs. He paused in the doorway. "We measured all the doors," he said. "Some of them are a tight squeeze, but you should be able to do it."

"Don't forget, I'll be using a walker," Charlie reminded him. "Where is it?"

"Must still be out in the car," Alan said. "I'll go get it — go ahead and take that stuff upstairs, Donnie."

With both his father and brother gone, Charlie wheeled through the doorway into the dining room. He could see that furniture all over the house had been rearranged, creating wide pathways and clearances. He rounded a corner so that he could see the stairs, and stopped suddenly. At the bottom sat a motorized unit with a chair on top, and a track led all the way up the inside wall. At the top of the stairs he could see another wheelchair.

His father had appeared behind him. "It's a lot of stair, Charlie. Too much right now. So you can just ride up and down."

"You … You got another chair."

"It's your upstairs chair. Not a nice lightweight number like this one. It's just a loaner, so we don't have to cart this one up and down. I borrowed it from Stan, he and his wife bought it a few years ago when she broke her hip. They sent over their walker, too, so you can have one of those on both floors." Alan looked nervously at Charlie. "Is that all right?"

Don came out of Charlie's room and started down the stairs, seeing the look on his face. "We thought this would be less invasive than a remodel the house doesn't really need," he put in. "Putting a bathroom and bedroom on the ground level … I mean, we'd do that, but it would take longer to do it than you'll even be needing it. This …"

"I know." Charlie's voice was sharp and he turned the chair back to the kitchen. "This is only temporary."

Alan and Don watched Charlie maneuver through the swinging door again, timing the swing perfectly to shoot through fast enough to keep from getting hit as the door shut. Don descended the rest of the stairs and looked at his father, shrugged. They followed Charlie back through the dining room into the kitchen, where he was sitting at the table. They joined him silently, waited for him to speak.

He rested his hands on the table and looked at them. "I appreciate the work. I do. I understand that things had to be done." He dropped his hands back in his lap and took a deep breath. "I don't know what I was thinking. Every time I thought of home — and that was a lot — I saw it the way it was. Everything is different. You don't even have my chair at the table, anymore."

Alan looked stricken. "I'm sorry. That was me. I just moved it for the day, until you came through the kitchen in the wheelchair and got settled. I knew you'd switch to the walker, I was going to put it back." He half stood. "It's in the pantry …"

Don reached out and put a hand on his arm, and Alan sat back down. They waited some more.

Charlie gazed wistfully at the refrigerator. "I can't just get up," he said quietly. "I mean, I know that all things considered, I'm extremely lucky. Blessed, even. And I'm so much better than I was … they put me on this stationary bike. I'm supposed to get one for home, that's one reason I thought about remodeling the garage … anyway, it doesn't go anywhere. I watch my right leg drop the pedal and then it takes me 23 seconds to bring it back up again. That's my best time. I just … I just thought it would be normal here, and nothing's been normal in so long …"

Don's chest was tight with sympathy, but his head knew he couldn't let Charlie get lost. "How long was it the first time?"

Charlie looked at him. "What?"

"You said 23 seconds is your best time. How long did it take you the first time?"

Charlie sighed a little. "I know what you're doing."

"How long?"

"Almost a full minute. I could only do it once, that day."

"How long do you stay on the bike now?"

"Fifteen minutes."

Don smiled at him, and Charlie couldn't help but smile back.

"Okay. So I was feeling sorry for myself for a second, there."

The air lightened a little and Alan got up, walked to the refrigerator. He opened the door, slid out a dish, turned some meat in the marinade.

Charlie perked up a little more. "Dad. Is that tri tip?"

Alan closed the door and started back for the table. "The good stuff. From Fleishmann's Meats. Your brother brought it over this morning."

Charlie smiled at Don.

"And here I thought you were robbed."


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: I just got a flame on an earlier story, so please be kind to me. I can only take so much in one day.**

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Chapter 17 • MOMENTS 

The heavy thump catapulted Alan into the dawn. _Charlie._

His feet hit the cold floor but he didn't stop for slippers. He shivered in the sweats and t-shirt he slept in and passed his robe on the way out the door. He didn't even knock at Charlie's room, just burst right in — in time to see his son using the desk for leverage as he dragged himself off the floor and onto the edge of the bed

He hurried to help him. "What happened?"

Charlie shrugged off his hand and pushed himself farther onto the bed. "Relax, Dad. Happened all the time at rehab."

Alan forced himself to step back. "What?"

"My subconscious wakes up and decides we're going somewhere. Convinces my legs to move enough to get out of bed, but then I stand up, and — usually the rest of me wakes up somewhere on the way down."

Alan sighed. "This happens often? I'm not sure I can get used to that."

Charlie reached for the walker leaning, folded, flat against the desk. He clicked the legs into place. He leaned up and pulled himself into it. He stood for a moment, waiting for balance. He grinned into his father's eyes. "Don't worry. I'm sure it's only temporary."

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Don saw mail in the slot near the front door of Charlie's house, so he veered that way instead of using the kitchen entrance. He snagged the mail and unlocked the door, entered the house. "Hey! Who's home?" He looked at his watch. Actually had gotten off work on time, tonight; that's why he decided to stop by the house. He hadn't seen Charlie in a couple of days. His Dad's car was here, but sometimes he left Charlie at the outpatient clinic and went back to pick him up later. Therapy often dragged on until almost six. He dropped the mail on the hall table and mentally chided himself. He should have called first, he could have gone to get Charlie. He could get in and out of the SUV, now.

Don's thoughts were interrupted by his brother's voice, coming from the kitchen.

"Dammit. Dammit. Dammit."

Uh-oh. That couldn't be good.

He walked across the living room, through the dining room and into the kitchen. Charlie sat in his wheelchair, the reaching tool he had brought back from the rehab center lying on the floor, surrounded by broken glass.

"Dammit," Charlie said again, and Don finally noticed the towel he was holding bunched around one finger. He crossed quickly to the chair.

"Let me see." He tried to pry the towel away from Charlie's hand.

"I just … I just wanted a drink. And … and there's no bottled water, so, so … I was hot, I'm tired, I … I just … and then I dropped it, and I leaned over to pick it up, and I must have hit a piece of glass … and …"

Don let out the breath he hadn't realized he was holding. The cut on Charlie's finger wasn't bad. Didn't look like it needed stitches. "Just calm down, Charlie. Let me back you out of this glass."

"Dammit." Charlie lifted one hand and wiped at an eye.

Don pulled the chair backwards a little and sat down at the table. He looked at Charlie's finger again. Still bleeding. He put the towel back around it. "Where's Dad?"

"I … I don't need a babysitter. This is one of the first things they taught me. I'm just tired, that's why I didn't switch to the walker when we got home."

Don kept his voice calm. "I didn't say you need a babysitter, Charlie. I saw his car in the driveway."

Charlie sighed. "Basement. L … L … Laundry." He sighed again.

Don peeked at the cut again. "Okay. You're okay. Take this towel, again. I'm going up to get the first aid kit. Don't move. I'll clean up the glass when I get back."

Charlie just nodded mutely, wiping at his eye again before taking the towel from Don. He was up the stairs and rummaging through the bathroom cupboards when Alan came up from the basement, laundry basket in hand. He started for the kitchen.

"Charlie, are you too worn out to help me fold?", he started, then froze in the doorway at the tableau before him. "Are you all right?" He dropped the basket beside the door and quickly took the chair Don had just abandoned. He cautiously looked under the towel Charlie clutched.

"I just … I just w – w – wanted some water," Charlie said, and Alan placed his hand over both of Charlie's, and leaned his head into his son's.

"Shh. It's all right now. It's all right."

Charlie leaned a little into his father, took a gulping breath.

Alan draped his other hand over the back of Charlie's chair and rubbed circles on his back.

Charlie shuddered, and his breath began to even out.

Don stood in the doorway, and held the first aid kit, and watched.

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He leaned on the walker, eyes scanning the terrain.

"You sure you don't want the chair? You're pretty good on solid ground, but I don't know about the grass."

Charlie's eyes settled on a chair at the patio table. "It's not that far, Don. Just walk with me."

Alan stood at the barbecue and watched their progress. He found himself smiling.

"He's doing great," David observed, walking up and handing Alan a plate. "It's only the 4th of July."

"Yes." Alan began to place burgers and hot dogs on the plate, while still watching his sons. "He's worked hard. Has his moments." He handed the plate back to David. "Haven't heard him fall out of bed recently."

David laughed. "He falls out of bed?"

"Apparently it's fairly common in these cases. Never seems to phase him much."

David shook his head and carried the plate to the buffet table, then met Charlie and Don at the patio table. Charlie was just sinking into the chair Megan had pushed out for him.

"You're looking good, Charlie." David took in the others at the table. "Time to eat, folks."

Larry pushed back his chair. "Charles, let me bring you a plate. I believe I've shared enough picnics with you to know what you like."

"I'll come with," Megan stated, standing, as Charlie nodded his thanks to them. Don still stood at the back of his chair.

"Thanks." Charlie tried to aim the words behind him. "I'm okay, now."

Don dropped a hand to his shoulder, squeezed as he passed to join the line at the buffet. "I know you are, kid."

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He watched Charlie fold the walker and lift it over into the back, then slide into the SUV. His brother sighed while he fastened the seat belt.

"I feel rather pig-like."

A laugh escaped Don. He shifted into "drive". "What's that about?"

"Air conditioning's out, but they made me do two miles on the treadmill anyway. You may want to open your window."

Don shook his head. "Charlie, you freakin' amaze me, sometimes."

"Why?"

"You said you were going to walk back to school in September, and you will. You're already out of the chair, and almost six more weeks before fall semester."

"I've abridged that goal somewhat. Not just walking. No more than a cane."

"I told you. I knew you could fight your way back."

Charlie reddened, both embarrassed and pleased. "Do you think you can talk Dad into taking out that ridiculous stair thing? It ruins the whole look of the house. And those ramps…"

"Charlie, give the guy a break. You just stopped using the chair two days ago."

Charlie looked at him, serious. "I really want to stop looking at those things. At least make him change the furniture back."

Don tossed him a grin, then looked back at the road. "I'll talk to him. On one condition."

Charlie looked apprehensive. "What?"

Don hit the control panel and lowered the power window a few inches. "As soon as I get you home, you're hitting the shower."


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

The closer he got to the park, the heavier he leaned on the cane.

It was only a mile from his house, and he was up to almost three on the treadmill, but he'd already endured four hours of therapy today, and taking this walk was pushing it.

He spied a bench with a sole occupant, reading a newspaper at one end, and headed in that direction. When he sat down, he felt an immediate relief followed by a wash of apprehension. He kept his eyes ahead of him.

The newspaper rattled. "A cane. That's good, Charlie. That's great."

"Yes. I'm pleased. I can go back to CalSci next week on my own three feet."

There was a slight chuckle behind the paper. "When will you lose the cane?"

Charlie shrugged. "Don't know if I will. My right leg still needs a lot of help. Especially when I'm tired — which is usually, once the school year starts."

There was no response to this.

Charlie cleared his throat. "That's okay, though, a cane is a vast improvement over the chair, the walker. And I'll continue to improve, at least for another month or two. Maybe longer. Research on spinal cord injuries is pretty cutting edge right now."

The paper was folded and placed between them. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

"It wasn't just you, Colby. You didn't know I was already injured."

They sat in silence.

After a minute, Charlie spoke again. "You were placed in a terrible position. I feel badly about that."

"You know what freaks me out? That back in '02 and '03, I was using some of your work to make sure I lived through every day. You saved my life on a number of occasions, Whiz Kid. Least I could do was return the favor."

Charlie chanced a look at Colby. "What are you doing, now?"

"I'm … with another agency. Based out of Washington. I travel a lot. On a layover now. When I saw that I'd be in L.A. for several hours … I almost didn't contact you. I wasn't sure you'd show up."

Charlie looked away again. "I hope it works out for you. I hope they … it … I hope it all stops haunting you."

Colby took his sunglasses out of his shirt pocket and put them on. "Yeah." A taxi pulled to the curb of the street they faced, and Colby stood. He looked down at Charlie through the sunglasses. "I've gotta go. I'm glad you're okay, Charlie."

Charlie watched him stride to the cab, get in, drive away. He watched the space where the taxi had been for a long time.

He saw Don's SUV pull up to the curb.

His brother opened the door, climbed out, and jogged over to the bench.

"Hey. Dad told me you wanted to walk to the park. Everything okay?"

Charlie smiled. "Yes. It's all good. You drove here from home?"

"No, I was on the cell with Dad. I wasn't there yet. I thought I'd stop and see if you wanted to ride back. I know you've already done your time on the treadmill, today. Sometimes you can push yourself too hard, Charlie."

Charlie shifted on the bench. "Sit down. I want to ask you something."

Don perched on the bench. "Shoot. But that's a 15-minute loading zone I'm parked in."

"I'll make it quick. And yes, I could use a ride home. Listen, you know I'm going back to work, next week?"

"Right. And continuing therapy."

"Correct. I'm going to be pretty tired. I don't think I can add anything else yet."

"That's okay, Charlie. You can get back to consulting when you're ready. Has it felt like I'm pushing you?"

Charlie shook his head. "No, that's not what I'm talking about."

Don looked confused. "Then what?"

"I don't want to take time away from work so soon after going back … and the thought of an airport is too much for me right now. I was wondering. Could you go to the White House for me in three weeks? Collect my National Medal of Science? There's a big dinner, and you can take a guest — Dad would love it."

Don looked at him, stunned. "Charlie …"

"I'll be okay alone in the house for a couple of nights. I'm not driving yet, but I'm sure Larry will help me out."

Don was finding it difficult to think. "I could … I could help you, with the airports. Charlie, it's the White House!"

Charlie smiled. "I know that. I've been there."

Don was extremely glad he was already sitting. "What?"

"Long story. I'll tell you someday. Just answer the question. Do you think you can get Thursday & Friday off in three weeks? I'll need to let the White House know you'll be accepting in my stead, so they can process your credentials."

"I … I … geez, Charlie. Why me?"

"Why not you, Don? You're my brother. And I've realized something, over the last few months."

"What's that?"

"It's _because_ you're my brother that I've been able to do what I do. You support me, encourage me – believe in me. You should be the one to pick up the award. If you'll do it."

Don rubbed a hand over his face. "White House. I'll have to wear a suit."

Charlie laughed. "Don't be silly. Tuxedo."

Don groaned, but smiled at Charlie. "I guess it will be worth it."

Charlie pushed himself up with the cane, and Don followed. "Good. Let's go home, and tell Dad. He can drive you crazy for the next three weeks with details."

They walked toward the SUV and Don rested his hand lightly on Charlie's shoulder. "No problem," he said. "That will be worth it, too."

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FINIS 

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**A/N: All of that happened because my back hurt one day, and I thought it might be interesting if Charlie's did also. Then things kind-of got away from me. Again. As I write this, I am days away from a cruise; I know I've already done a cruise story, but who knows, I may find additional ideas upon my journey. Thanks to all who read and review!**


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